Harry Potter: The Slytherin Boy
by Daedalus Plum
Summary: Harry Potter is The Boy Who Lived...the one who defeated the Dark Lord...who restored hope to humanity years ago...the son of a Muggle-born...and in Slytherin House.
1. Diagon Alley

(This Fan Fic begins at Harry's first day in the wizarding world, during his visit to Diagon Alley, the missing beginning being the first few chapters of the Sorceror's Stone)  
  
Harry Potter could hardly believe his eyes when he had first entered Diagon Alley. His back was still stinging slightly from the many hardy pats he had received as he passed through the Leaky Cauldron, and his hand was white and stiff from being repeatedly wrung by the eager wizards and witches in the pub. He felt it all in wonder as he walked around, staring at buildings claiming all sorts of magical merchandise. (Niffler toenails 'They'll find you gold!', Hellebore Powder 'For all your basic potion needs!', and The Nimbus Broomsticks 'Best Broom for your Sporting-Good Needs!') Harry felt his heart leap into his throat, pounding hard, yelling at him, 'This is it! This is where you belong!'. But another voice was inside him, churning his stomach, whispering, 'But do you FEEL magical?' Harry couldn't deny that despite it's quiet nature, he was far more focused and concerned with this second voice. He didn't feel one bit magical, when it came down to it. Sure, he had had a few odd moments that might be explained away by magic, but none of it had been him doing it. But then again, maybe this made him extra magical? "Yes," said another little hissing voice in his head, "I bet that others have to have loads of practice to talk to snakes, or fly onto rooftops. But ME...I did it without even KNOWING. I wonder how many can do THAT."  
  
Harry could hardly believe he was thinking this. That wasn't his voice, he was sure! But then again, he felt that small unmagical part of him ebb away, and a new feeling flooding in. He wasn't just magical, maybe. He might be powerful. Though he wasn't sure whether he believed it, Harry enjoyed toying with this idea. He would like to be powerful. Get back at Dudley and his gang for everything they had ever done to him. Make Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon regret that they had ever locked him in that cupboard. But then, there was always the question of how? Harry didn't want to hurt anybody, surely. But the idea of revenge was too tempting to let go.  
  
At last, however, Harry realized that they hadn't stopped in one of  
the stores. And he realized why.  
"Hagrid?"  
  
"Yeah, Harry?"  
  
"How am I supposed to pay for all these things?"  
  
"Well that's easy, Harry," said Hagrid, smiling down at him. "We're headed to Gringotts, the wizarding bank. You're parents left you a pretty bit o'money when they died, bless'em," he added fondly. "Yep, gonna get your money there. And another little bit o' Ogwarts business, too."  
  
Harry looked at Hagrid, eager to hear what this was, but Hagrid was now watching some sort of magical creatures in a nearby store window, which resembled a cross between a gila monster and a ferret, and would let off a little zap of electric when touched. Harry couldn't help grinning at the things, and forgot about the Hogwart's business at the bank. Probably nothing interesting, anyway. It was a bank! Harry couldn't have been more wrong. Gringotts was ulike any bank he had ever seen. It was large, with golden hallways, and strange creatures that appeared to be the tellers. "What are they, Hagrid?" asked Harry, his eyes following on the short, long-nosed, wrinkled things. "Them're goblins, Harry," said Hagrid knowingly, "Don' know about'em meself, but they're perfect for dis work. Don' wanta cross a goblin, Harry."  
  
And as Harry watched the creatures, he agreed.  
  
When they got up to the desk, a goblin in a pince-nez peered over at them."Yes?" it asked in an surprisingly oily voice.  
  
"We're here to withdraw from Harry's account. An' pick up a little somethin' in vault you-know-what!" breathed Hagrid, eyes darting around the room, as he slid an envelope across the table, bearing the same coat of arms that had been on Harry's letter, and a tarnished brass key. The goblin nodded, and called forward another one named Griphook. "Show these gentlemen to their vaults," he said, and waved forward the next in line.  
  
The goblin named Griphook smiled at them, and beckoned them forward to follow him into a room in the back. Harry was expecting to see rows of safety boxes, or something, as he suspected he would find in a normal bank, but was surprised to see a cart on a track, like you would see heading down into mines. "Climb in!" said Griphook, pushing Harry forward with a nudge. "S'all right, Harry," said Hagrid reassuringly. "The only way ter get there."  
  
Harry thought about being mad with Hagrid for a moment. He wasn't afraid! He knew it was alright. He just wasn't fond of the idea of crawling into a mine cart for no apparent reason. It felt silly. But he did so anyway, and with a tight squeeze, the goblin, Harry, and Hagrid were all in. "Here we go," said the goblin, and gripped the brake with one-long fingered, bony hand. And before Harry knew what had hit him, he was knocked backward from the force of the suddenly speeding cart, the wind knocked out of him, and trying desperately to get it back. He hadn't been expecting it. But nonetheless, "Brilliant!" he cried as they passed through caves, the scenery whipping past in a blur. And then the cart pulled to a sudden stop. "Mr. Potter's vault," said Griphook's high and gravely voice. "Key please," He said, holding out his hand. Hagrid handed it to him, looking slightly green around the ears. Griphook put it in the slot, and Harry heard a series of locks clicking inside, and the vault door flew open. He stared in awe at the riches set before him. There were huge golden coins, silver, and small bronze ones, too. As he stood opened mouthed, Hagrid came over and clapped him gently on the shoulder, Harry's knees almost being forced to buckle. "This is it. Wizard's gold. And it's all yours."  
  
Harry walked uneasily forward, with a money sack in his hands, supplied by Griphook, and began to fill it with some gold, silver, and bronze pieces. "See here, Harry," said Hagrid. "This big gold one's called a Galleon. The silver ones are Sickles, and the tiny bronze ones are Knuts," he said, pointing to each and attempting explain the overly complicated value system. Harry looked at him imploringly. "Why don't you just use notes, or a system based on tens?" Hagrid chuckled at the idea. "Now why would we wanta do tha'?"  
  
They entered the cart again, and were so speeding off, towards the Hogwart's vault. Harry's interest rose again when they stopped. "Vault 713," croaked the goblin. "Stand back," he said, holing his hands out importantly as Harry approached to get a better look. And with his long finger, the Goblin stroked it down the vault door. The door quivered slightly, and then the door began to melt away. Harry gasped. "If anybody but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they be sucked inside with no way out." He grinned. "How often do you check to see if someone's in there?" asked Harry, amazed. "Oh, about every ten years." In the middle of the vault, which Harry had suspected to be filled with something very large and impressive with all the fuss that seemed to surround it, was a small, somewhat grubby looking package. Hagrid hurried forward, took it, and placed it in one of his many pockets. "Best not be tellin anyone 'bout this, Harry" he said.  
  
And they set off in the cart for the topside again. Harry could hear Hagrid next to him muttering,"I don' like this, O! I really don' like this!"  
  
Once they had left the bank, Harry went around and visited several stores to buy his books, cauldron, telescope, and potion ingredients, all of them filled with extraordinarily intriguing items, which he was strongly tempted to buy. "Now," said Hagrid, "ya can' go spendin; all dat at once! You have some yeas ahead o' ya!" Harry nodded, plagued with the idea of having to ask his Aunt and Uncle for money to buy a cauldron. It wasn't pleasant. "Here ya are!" said Hagrid, ushering Harry forward to a store titled, 'Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions'. "You go in there an' get your robes. I'll be off a bit....have some business at the pub." And he hurried off, leaving Harry to himself.  
  
Harry walked in, and immediately was helped by a small, plump witch, with a measuring tape in hand anda tired smile on her face. "Hogwarts, dear? Go and stand over there, then, by the mirrors. I'll be with you in just a minute. We're fitting another one of your students just now." And she hurried off to a back room, apparently to get some more pins or fabric. Harry walked over to the mirror, and saw another bnoy, his age, standing there. The boy had white-blonde hair, and a sort of sneer on his face. Harry stood on the stool next to him, as the woman hurried out again, working at the other boy's, and another worker began taking is measurements. The white-haired boy looked over at him. "Hogwarts, too?" he asked. Harry nodded.  
  
"It's my first year, too. I can't wait to go. Father says that I'm sure to be years ahead of the other students." He grinned, and Harry looked down at his feet, attempting not to meet the boy's eyes. He wondered if tis was true. "Yes, I'm very excited to be going. I can't wait for the sorting, either," he looked at Harry again, who this time looked up at him in interest, still not talking. "Yes," the boy said, "I do hope so much to be in Slytherin. All my family has been for centuries. I mean, I'm a shoo-in for it. But could you imagine if you got placed in Hufflepuff? I tell you, I'd pack my bags and leave the school in embarrassment." Now, Harry looked down again, and muttered something in a sort of uncommitted way. "So, are your parents, well, our sort?" asked the boy.  
  
They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean," said Harry, somewhat haughtily. "Indeed," said the blonde boy, eyeing Harry interestedly, who quickly smoothed his bangs to his forehead. "I don't think they should let the other sort in. Imagine, not even knowing about Hogwarts until they got the letter." Harry listened somewhat ashamed with how little he knew. Somewhere deep down, he almost felt that the boy was right. If this was what every other kid went through who hadn't known about it, it might be kinder to leave them in their own world. "Father thinks it's an outrage that first years can't have broomsticks. He's thinking about smuggling one in for me. He says that if I don't get picked for the Quidditch team, it'll be a crime."  
  
Harry nodded again, without the slightest clue of what the boy was talking about. "Draco Malfoy," said the boy at last, holding out his hand. Harry reached out his own, and was about to introduce himself when he heard a rapping noise on the window outside. Hagrid was tapping on the window, pointing to two large ice cream cones in either hand. "Really, who is that?" asked Draco.  
  
"Oh!" said Harry , finally glad he knew something, "that's Hagrid."  
  
"Hagrid?" asked Draco, "Oh, yes I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant at the school, isn't he?"  
  
Harry's face flushed, and he turned to look at the boy. "Hagrid's the groundskeeper. He's here with me."  
  
"Oh," said the boy, eyes lashing slightly, but he continued in the same careless manner. "I see. Very well."  
  
Harry looked at Draco, slightly stricken with his bluntness. "Dear," said the seamstress, "You're finished, now. Here are your robes. Pay at the front desk."  
  
Harry hurried down and away from the mirrors and the boy and paid quickly, before running outside. He took one of the ice cream cones happily, and they ate it as they walked. "Well,," said Hagrid, after they had finished, "I 'spose we best be gettin' yer wand next."  
  
Harry grinned and his stomach jumped excitedly. This was what he had been looking forward to. His wand.  
  
They entered a shop called Ollivander's, which was filled with rows and rows of shelves holding boxes Harry presumed were wands. "Ello?" called Hagrid, ringing the bell on the front desk. "Ello?" he said, ringing it again.  
  
"Yes?" said a man, who emerged eerily from the shadows, taking the bell away. "Oh," he said, spying Harry. "Oh, here to choose your wand, I presume, although, of course, " the man chuckled, "It is actually the wand the chooses the wizard." He turned away and fumbled in a drawer before turning around with a measuring tape in hand, and fixed a piercing stare with his electric blue eyes on Harry. "Yes, I've been expecting you, now. Hmm, I remember your parents wands," he said, suddenly snapping his fingers. The measuring tape jumped, and suddenly began taking Harry's measurements on its own. "Yes, yur mother's was 10 1/4 inches, willow, quite flexible, good for charm work, I believe. And yes, your father's was an exceptional wand, 11 inches, mahoghany, good for powerful spells and transfiguration. Yes, you resemble him extraordinarily," he said, looking Harry up and down, "Except your, eyes," he gazed uncomfortably into them. "You have your mother's eyes." He gazed off distatnly for a moment, and then said suddenly, taking notice of the measuring tape, which was currently measuring the length of his nostrils, "Stop! Stop! That's enough! Ah, here we go," he said as it dropped to the floor, and held out a wand to Harry. Harry took it, feeling stupid, not knowing what to do. "Use your wand hand to hold it," prompted Mr. Ollivander.  
  
"Well, I'm right-handed if that's what you mean," said Harry, gripping it in his right-hand.  
  
"Indeed, indeed. Now go on. Give it a wave!"  
  
Harry held up the wand awkwardly, and brought it down in a sort of wave. Mr. Ollivander snatched it away almost immediately. "No, no, try this one. 12 inches, willow, dragon heartstring." Harry had barely lifted it before it was snatched away again. "Definitely not," said Ollivander, who was obviously waiting on something. "Here, oak, 13 inches, unicorn hair," he said, and soon snatched it away again as well.  
  
And so it went, with the pile of used wands gaining, until Harry 's arm hurt, feeling as though he had tried every wand in the store. He wondered if it was normal to go through this when picking a wand, but judging by the odd expression of confusion on Hagrid's face, probably not. At last, Ollivander approached him with an expectant look on his face as he looked at the wand in his hands. "I wonder," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.  
  
He held out the wand to Harry, who took it, and immediately felt as though waving a wand were the most natural thing to do, and not something near as silly as he had first thought it to be. The wand felt warm in his fingers, and he gave it a wave. Red sparks flew out of the end, and he heard Hagrid sigh in relief, and Mr. Ollivander clap, before he took it back. "Yes, yes. This is your wand, Mr. Potter. Eleven inches, holly, with a phoenix feather core. How curious, though. Curious, curious..." he looked at him wonderingly, not sure if he wanted to know. But he asked anyway.  
  
"Um, Mr. Ollivander? What's curious?" he asked.  
  
Mr. Ollivander jumped, as though he had forgotten Harry was there, and busied himself with wrapping it again. "Oh, nothing. It's just that this wand.....The phoenix who gave the feather for this wand gave one other. Another, which gave you this scar," he said, pointing at Harry's scar as though Harry might not know where it was. Harry gasped, and he heard Hagrid begin to cough fitfully. "Yes," continued Mr. Ollivander. "I believe this means we can expect great things from you, Potter. For He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named did great things. Terrible! But great."  
  
Harry paid for the wand, and hurried out of the store with Hagrid. The shopping was done now, and they made their way back towards the Leaky Cauldron, for a bit of rest. "Alrigh, there, Harry?" asked Hagrid after some time of silence. "Fine," said Harry, knowing perfectly well that he was not, but that this answer was expected of him. But hw could he be fine when he had just found out that the foulest wizard ever who had killed his own parents and tried to kill him, was somehow connected to him, it seemed. Through his wand. For hadn't Mr. Ollivander said it is the wand that chooses the wizard? Perhaps that meant that both ones had seen something in their owners, that the owners themselves could not...... "Hagrid?" said Harry at last, determined to sort out at least some of his confusion, "What are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, where'd you hear about those?" And Harry related the story to him about the boy, Draco Malfoy, who he had met in Madame Malkin's.  
  
"Codswallop," Hagrid said when Harry had finished. "I know his type. Think that only people from wizardin' families should be allowed ter go ter da school. But I tell ya, it don' matter, so long as ye got the talent. Some o' the best wizards and witched out dere are muggle-born!"  
  
"I bet the others are way ahead of us, though," said Harry glumly.  
  
"Firs' of all, Harry, yer not a Muggle-born. An' besides, ye'd be surprised. Dat's not really true. I mean, ye're all basically the same without a bit o'trainin'. I 'spose there might be a bit o' culture shock for'em, though."  
  
Harry snorted. It was more than a might. "So, anyway, what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"  
  
"Oh, dem? Dey're Houses at the school. Everybody gets put inter one. Dere's Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor. The Hufflepuffs are kinda known fer being a bit dorky, or summat."  
  
"I bet I'll be in there," muttered Harry.  
  
"But if ye ask me,!" Hagrid continued, "Be'er Hufflepuff than Slytherin. Not a dark wizard ever come out 'oo wasn't in Slytherin. Dodgy folk, some o'em. Of course," he continued fairly, "Dey're not all bad. Jus' like all Hufflepuffs ain't dorks. If ye get put in any o' de Houses, then there'll be a reason, and no 'ard feelins anywheres for dat."  
  
He grinned at Harry reassuringly, and stood up. "Ah,w ell den Harry, I best be goin soon. Oh! But before I do," he bent down to Harry and smiled eagerly, "What would ya like fer a birthday present?"  
  
"Oh!" said Harry, startled, turning red. He had never gotten a real birthday gift before. "Erm, it's ok, really. I don't need anything."  
  
"Nonsense!" said Hagrid, taking his shoulder and pulling him up. "Come on! I know what ye need! A pet! How's dat sound? Now, let's see.....don' wanna get ya a toad, they'd make fun'o'ya. Not a cat, either, dey make me eyes water. Ah! I know! 'll get ya an owl. Bloody useful creatures. 'Ere ye go," he said, directing Harry into Eyelops Owl Emporium. "Pick out anyone ya want!"  
  
Harry was torn, not knowing what he wanted. On the one hand, there was a snowy owl with large amber eyes who looked pleasant. On the other, there was a fierce looking eagle owl, with a surprisingly black coat who looked somewhat intimidating and intelligent. He chose the eagle owl. It was surprisingly well behaved, perched on his soldier, and didn't put up any fight as he put it into its cage again and walked outside with it, Harry thanking Hagrid all the way. "It was no problem. I was happy ter get 'im fer yeh. E's a fine owl, 'Arry," said Hagrid, smiling at the owl. "Beautiful male, really. Nev'r seen one of his type dis pure black either. So what're ya gonna name 'im?"  
  
Harry hadn't thought of this. He stroked the owl's dark plumage absentmindedly through the cage. Then he knew how he would pick. He reached into one of his bags, and pulled out a book, and flipped randomly open to a page. He skimmed down it, searching for a name. "I'll name him," he looked at the name again to be sure, "Blaise," he said finally. He put 'The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection' back in his bag. He re-gripped Blaise's cage, and walked out of the Leaky Cauldron, back into the Muggle World, with his items stashed away in bags and boxes, with Hagrid's help. At last, he arrived back at 4 Privet Drive. He turned to Hagrid, who had set Harry's things down outside the door. "Well, 'Arry, I'll be leaving ya here. Now, remember. Platform 9 an' 3/4, and de train leaves at 11 o'clock. All the information's right dere," he pointed to the piece of parchment gripped in Harry's hand. "Now, I hate ter be leavin' yeh, and all, 'specially with dis lot, but its me orders. See yeh at 'Ogwarts, 'Arry.  
  
Harry smiled at Hagrid, and turned and starting picking his things up. He asked Hagrid to hand him his bag of books, but when he turned around, Hagrid was gone. Harry was sad to see he wasn't there, but as he brought in all the new and obviously magical items into the Dursley's house, he couldn't help but smile at them. Things around number four were going to change. 


	2. Surpise at the Sorting Ceremony

And Harry was right, because things definitely weren't the same when he got back. The Dursleys ignored Harry completely, which Harry took as a definite improvement to the constant punishment he had once received. Dudley's reaction was perhaps the best. Whenever he saw Harry, he would run out of the room. He had stopped picking on him, and looked scared all the time. Harry was pleased, overall. He spent most of his time reading through his textbooks in amazement at what it was telling him he might very well be learning to do in just a short time. He hadn't tried any of the spells himself, yet, because he remembered what Hagrid had said about how he, Hagrid, wasn't strictly allowed to do magic. He figured this probably applied to him, too, and, plus, he wasn't even sure how to begin. The instructions in his book were all fine and well, but he wanted to see how some of the things were done, first, so as to not do something wrong, and create some sort of explosion, or something. The book stressed the fact that if he wasn't careful, this very well may be the result. He didn't want to risk it.  
  
What Harry thought about the most to tide him over for the rest of the summer, was what Hagrid had said about the school houses, and such. He was curious about which he would be put in. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Gryffindor, he had said. Well, despite what Hagrid had said about Hufflepuff not be all bad, Harry was pretty sure he didn't want to be in it, if that's what people really thought about it. And Slytherin sounded kind of scary, too. Hagrid had said that all the dark wizards had come from Slytherin. But then again, he had said they weren't all bad, too. Harry was sure each house had its ups and downs, and Harry had a hard time believing, nonetheless, that all dark wizards had come from there. He thought about the other two, too, but he didn't know anything about them. His History of Magic book had said a little, but it mostly talked about goblin rebellions and such. From what he had gathered, though, four wizards had founded the school, centuries ago, and each had a house named after them based on what they looked for in their students. That's as detailed as it got. Harry didn't know where he would to be. As a matter of fact, out of the magical world, again, he was doubting himself and his abilities, all the more. The only thing he had keeping him from believing it was all a dream, was his wand. When he held it, he knew that there was magic there.  
  
The other thing that Harry considered the most was what Hagrid had told him about his parents. And a wizard named Voldemort, who had killed them.  
  
Harry often recalled the flash of green light he would see when trying to remember them, but it was no help. Even if he strained his memory, he saw the same thing he always had. Although, sometimes, he thought he could hear a sort of high-pitched cackle in the background.  
  
Harry didn't know how to take it about how he had survived a curse from the darkest wizard ever, who name seemed to scare people even these ten years later. But every part of him knew that this had nothing to do with his own power. Something else had happened, killing Voldemort with his own curse. Well, almost killing, according to Hagrid....  
  
With all these thoughts, Harry found himself occupied for most of them summer. Thus far, he had been avoiding one inevitable thing. But today, he couldn't avoid it anymore. He walked into the living room. "Uncle Vernon," he began.  
  
Uncle Vernon turned around slowly as though contemplating whether or not he wanted to at last acknowledge that the boy was there. Neither had spoken to each other since Harry had come back. "What is it?" he asked sharply.  
  
"Um, well, uh, you see, to get to, um, my school, I have to get to London and be at the train station. Umm, here," Harry handed him his ticket. Uncle Vernon looked at the ticket. "What's this rubbish? Platform 9 3/4? There is no such platform."  
  
"But there must be. It says so, right there!" said Harry, now slightly panicky. Uncle Vernon smiled. "Fine, then, boy. We'll take you there, and you can find your platform. But only because we have to go to London, anyway. Have to get that ruddy tail removed," he said, flushing purple now, at the thought of his son's pig tail.  
  
Harry took his ticket back, and ran out of the room, hardly able to hold it in. When he was out of earshot, he began to laugh quietly. Dudley's tail, he had almost forgotten! One week later, Harry had packed his things, and loaded the car, read to set off for London. Nobody talked to him the whole car ride, and Dudley had squashed himself as flat against the car door away from Harry as he could possibly get.  
  
When they arrived at King's Cross train station, they left him there, and drove away laughing about his ticket again, no doubt.  
  
Harry walked through the station, pushing his trolley ahead of him. But when he reached platform 9, and platform ten, the only thing between the was a stone barrier. Harry didn't know what to do. He checked his ticket again. It definitely said King's Cross, Platform nine and three quarters. He didn't dare show it to anybody else, while there was obviously no platform there. He thought about what the Dursley's would say if he called them up and said he couldn't find his platform. He couldn't do that. They definitely wouldn't come and get him. He looked at the clock nearby. It was ten 'til eleven, when his train was supposed to depart. He was just beginning to get frantic, when something caught his eye, and not unsurprisingly. A large family, all of them with red hair, was standing in front of the barrier, talking excitedly. They looked promising, for some reason. Harry edged a little closer to them, and heard the older woman, most likely the mother, say, "Of course, place packed with Muggles, as usual. Thank goodness your dad isn't here."  
  
With a sigh of relief, his heart pumping happily in his chest, he walked up to the woman. "Um, excuse me?" he asked, hopefully.  
  
She turned around and smiled at him. "Yes, my dear?"  
  
"I was just wondering...."  
  
"How to get on the platform?" she said abruptly. Harry nodded. "Ah, yes, it's my Ronnie's first year at Hogwarts too," she said, gesturing to the shortest of the boys. "Yes, all you have to do, dear, is walk straight at the barrier, here, and to know that you won't hit it! Quite simple really. Here, watch Fred here, dear."  
  
She took one of them by the shoulders, presumably Fred, and nudged him slightly forward. "Alright, alright, keep your hair on," he said. "And besides, I'm George! Not Fred!"  
  
"Oh, sorry dear," she said quickly. Harry could see why she made the mistake. The boy was a twin, who was identical to his brother in every way.  
  
Harry watched as he walked forward, and turned back to his mother. "No, just kidding, I am Fred." And suddenly, he broke off in a short sprint and ran at the barrier. But instead of crashing, he disappeared through it. Harry gasped, and looked around, to see if anybody else had seen. But nobody else really reacted, or appeared to have noticed at all.  
  
"Okay dear?" said the woman, again. "See how it's done? Now here, go with Ron now. Best to do it at a bit of a run the first time."  
  
Harry stepped forward, a little awkwardly, with the boy named Ron next to him. And he started to run. He closed his eyes, knowing that the brick barrier wasn't far, and hoping against all hope that he wouldn't crash. He opened his eyes at the last minute and saw the wall just inches from his nose, and the next thing he knew, King's Cross had dissolved around him, into a bustling platform. He looked around, and saw a sign hanging above him which read, 'Platform 9 3/4'. All around him, the witches and wizards bustled along in a hurry, getting on and off a scarlet steam engine, loading their bags. Harry watched people kissing their kids goodbye, and suddenly disappearing with a crack. He turned around, and saw the rest of the redheaded family burst through the barrier.  
  
He smiled at them, and ran up and thanked the woman. "Oh no, dear, my pleasure!" she said earnestly, and turned back to her own and back helping them with their bags.  
  
"Hey!" said somebody sharply behind Harry. He turned around and faced one of the twins. "Fred Weasley's the name! And this here's my brother George. And well, we was just wondering...." his eyes flickered at Harry's forehead and rested on his scar briefly, "Well, are you...."  
  
"....Harry Potter?" finished his twin.  
  
"Oh!" said Harry, understanding, "oh, um, well, yeah that's me." He flushed slightly.  
  
"Blimey!" said Fred and George together.  
  
"Fred! George!" called their mother back to him, and they both jumped and ran back towards her.  
  
Harry was thankful for the interruption. He could hear them back there, and heard his own name mentioned among the babble. He quickly took his bag onto the train, before anybody else might stop him. He chose one of the few empty compartments left on the train, and struggled pushing his stuff overhead. He left the door open slightly so that others would know which compartment wasn't full, and sat down, giddy with excitement.  
  
At last, the compartment door opened, and the redheaded Weasley named Ron walked in. "Is this compartment full?" he asked.  
  
"No, come on in!" said Harry, happy to have someone in there with him. He had all sorts of questions to ask.  
  
Ron stared at him for a while, until it seemed he finally realized what he was doing, and looked away, his ears red. "Er, um, are you really?"  
  
"Really what?" asked Harry blankly.  
  
"Well, you know, Harry Potter?"  
  
"Harry sighed. "Oh, yeah. I'm him."  
  
Ron blushed again. "Oh, well, I was just wondering, because, well, Fred and George said you were, but you can't really trust them you see....." he looked at Harry again, and asked, "Can you remember?"  
  
Harry understood this question. "Oh, no. Not really anyway. Just a bit of green light, but I can't really make anything out of that."  
  
"Oh," said Ron, sounding slightly amazed, and yet disappointed. "And do you really have," his voice dropped to a whisper, "the scar?"  
  
Harry nodded, and held back his bangs, showing on the thin, lightning bolt- shaped scar cut across his forehead. "Wicked!" said Ron.  
  
"Yeah," said Harry smiling. "So, is all your family wizards?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," said Ron dismissively. "All of us are. Yep. And every last one of us has been in Gryffindor. I hope I am, too. My parents would be really upset if I wasn't. Sort of a tradition, you know?" Harry smiled blankly, suddenly warmed up to the idea of Gryffindor house. "Yeah. You saw my brothers. Fred and George. The oldest one was Percy," he sneered, "the Prefect," he added in a tone of the utmost disgust. He sighed. "Oh well. Percy might be a disgrace, but as straight-laced as he is and all, I think Fred and George might be twice as misbehaved, each," he smiled again. "Real practical jokers, let that be a warning to you. Don't ever accept anything from them, but don't get on their bad side, either. Not that you have to, to be a target," he added. He suddenly looked unhappy, again. "They're both on the house Quidditch team, too. Beaters, you know."  
  
Harry looked at him, confused. There was a brief pause, and then he asked at last, "What is Quidditch?"  
  
Ron looked at him funny, as though Harry were pretending to be stupid on purpose, and then gasped and shook his head. "Blimey, mate! What's Quidditch? I thought everybody knew! Not that you would really have anyway of knowing," he added on reflection. "Anyway, Quidditch is..." and he dove into a long explanation of a sport, played on broom sticks, with balls that flew around and tried to hit you, how there were people trying to score against you with a larger red one, and then a tiny gold one that flew around quickly and another person tried to catch. Harry listened, open- mouthed, hanging on every word. The explanation was quickly followed by accounts of his favorite teams, and some historic matches, aNd lasted for a while.  
  
At last, though, he was interrupted by a witch, pushing a trolley down the aisle outside, filled with sweets. Harry realized then how hungry he was, and bought a bit of everything, eager to try all the candy, which was unlike any he had ever seen. He looked to Ron, imploringly, who went red, again, and said he'd brought his own, holding out some sandwiches. Harry sat down back in the compartment, as the train moved on, and began unwrapping some of them. "Here!" he said to Ron, pushing some of the sweets towards him. "Have some," said Harry, "I can't eat them all!" Ron thanked Harry earnestly, before helping himself to a Pumpkin pasty.  
  
They had fun eating the sweets, daringly eating the Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Beans (which had a tendency to be EVERY flavor), and then looking through Harry's wizard cards from his Chocolate Frogs. The cards amazed Harry, because, as he watched them, the people in the pictures would move about, and wave up at him every now and then. According to Ron this was quite normal in the wizarding world, and he was shocked to hear that they didn't in the Muggle world, too.  
  
Their fun, however, was interrupted again when a round faced, worried looking boy came to the compartment, opening the door shyly. "Umm, well, I was just wondering if you've seen my toad?" asked the boy. Harry and Ron both hook their heads. "Oh!" said the boy in despair, "I can't believe I've lost him again! My gran'll be so mad!" And he walked away.  
  
After that interruption, it didn't seem as though they had a moment of peace. Not long after, their compartment was invaded again, this time by a rather frizzy haired, long-toothed witch. "Have you seen Neville's toad?" she asked.  
  
"He's already come by, no we haven't!" said Ron, slightly irritable at the interruption. But the witch wasn't paying any attention to him.  
  
"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" she said matter-of-factly.  
  
"Yeah," said Harry, realizing that he was going to be hearing this a lot more before the train ride was over.  
  
"I've read all about you, of course," said the witch.  
  
"Er, you have?"  
  
"Yes, of course. You're in all the books about the Dark Arts, basically. Haven't you read them? I mean, if I were you, I would have read everything I could! Anyway, I'm Hermione Granger," she said, "and you two had best be getting your robes on. We'll be there soon." And she left with a twirl of her robes, leaving both Ron and Harry quite speechless.  
  
They hurriedly got their robes on, and looked out the window. They couldn't see Hogwarts yet, to their disappointment, but the scenery had suddenly changed, with mountains in the background. And then came the last and most unwelcome interruption. "Is Harry Potter in here?" asked an oddly familiar voice, bursting in without the slightest bit of apology or warning. "Oh," said Draco, "It's you then, is it? They're talking about you all over the train, saying you're in here. But really," he continued, "if I keep finding you in such company, Potter, I won't know what to think. First that beast Hagrid and now a," he looked at Ron and smirked, "A Weasley," he said with some conviction. Ron's ears went red, and he looked at him angrily.  
  
"No need to tell me who you are!" spat Ron. "Malfoy. I know all about you," he said, with quite the same conviction.  
  
Mutual dislike appeared on each face. Obviously, what these two knew about each other, neither thought was good.  
  
"These are Crabbe and Goyle," said Malfoy, turning back to Harry again. Harry took notice for the first time of two large and threatening looking boys flanking Draco. They looked like bodyguards. "I just wanted to introduce myself, you know," said Malfoy, "wanted you to get to know the right kind of wizard."  
And with that, he left Ron and Harry's compartment.  
  
Harry turned to Ron. "What do you know about him?" implored Harry.  
  
Ron let out a derisive snort. "His whole family's into the Dark Arts. His dad was reckoned to be in You-Know-Who's inner circle."  
  
"What?!" said Harry in astonishment, "His dad was one of Voldemort's...."  
  
But he never finished the sentence, because at the sound of Voldemort's name, Ron yelped, and jumped out of his seat, staring avidly at Harry.  
  
"I'm sorry!" said Harry quickly, "I forgot! I'm new here, I didn't know..."  
  
"Forgot?" yelled Ron, sitting in his seat again, "Well jeez! I've never actually heard anyone use his name, you know! And I thought especially that you...."  
  
"Like I said, I didn't know!" said Harry again, "I mean, I grew up with Muggles! I forgot that people here don't say his name!"  
  
"It's alright," said Ron, looking pale, "Just took me by surprise, that's all. Blimey..."  
  
They didn't talk much after that. Thankfully, though, they were close to Hogwarts now. It loomed in the distance, silhouetted against the lit by the pink light of the setting son. They felt the train begin to slow.  
  
The sky darkened outside, and a light rain began to fall. The castle of Hogwarts looked ominous from here, and Harry felt a lump rise in his throat as the strain slowed to a stop. He helped Ron get his trunks down, and likewise, as they pushed their way into the suddenly crowded aisle way. To make matters worse, among the noise and bustle of the students, Harry heard his name come up two or three times. It was hard enough to be brought into the magical world on such sort notice, but to have a reputation there already made it almost impossible. He wished terribly that his hair would lay flat as he saw people looked out of their compartment windows and doors at his forehead. He felt his face grow increasingly red, and was sure that they wouldn't be able to see his scar against his skin, now.  
  
He exited the train into the rain, where he could finally breathe. He saw most of the students, the older ones, heading off towards horse-less carriages nearby. He was about to head for them as well, when he heard a booming voice call out, "Firs years! Firs' years come dis way, please!"  
  
He turned around and saw Hagrid, standing in front of a lake, in which several small boats could be seen. He shivered. That was no doubt how they were meant to get there. He walked over towards Hagrid, who looked down at him and smiled. "Hiya, Harry! I'll be bringin yas across the lake now! Bit of a tradition, ye know?" And with that he turned away, and beckoned to some other reluctant looking first years.  
  
Harry got into a boat, and was relieved to see Ron in it with him. They shared it with Neville, who was still looking for his toad, and Hermione, who looked slightly paler than before.  
  
The boats began moving themselves out, with Hagrid's at the front, and his own to far behind. Harry had no time to feel cold, wet, or even excited, because a sort of sick nervousness was filling of his emotional vacancies. The castle was foreboding, and he couldn't help but think about why the first years went in a different way than the rest of the school. Did it have something to do with how they were put into houses? Were they not going to the castle, straight away, but somewhere else, where teachers picked and chose where they went? Harry couldn't help but feel nervous about this. What if nobody wanted him in their house?  
  
But, despite his worries, they headed up to the castle. They entered and stood, shivering with nerves more thancold, as it had not been raining hard. Harry decided here, once and for all, that he didn't like being in big groups. The eyes staring at him felt as though they burned holes in him. Soon, though, Harry forgot this, as he realized for the first time that the noise he was hearing wasn't the sound of the people around him talking. On the contrary, almost everyone around him was silent, except for the few who dealt with their nerves in a more talkative manner. Most of the noise he was hearing, though, came from beyond the doors in front of them, and a horrible thought occurred to Harry; they were going to be put to a test for their Houses in front of the rest of the school. He gulped, and was just grasping this idea when the doors ahead of them burst open; revealing an old and rather stern looking witch. She wore full-length green robes, and a pointed witch's hat.  
  
"First years," she addressed them, "I am Professor McGonnagal. Now, when I tell you to, you will head through this doorway here, and stand silently until I call you to come forward. You will then sit on the provided stool, and try on the Sorting Hat. Once you have been sorted, you will go to your House's table. Now, if you would please come forward." And the whole group stepped out into a large room, filled with students, in their black hats and robes. Harry looked up, and saw that there appeared to be no ceiling in the room, but as he looked closer, he saw that there, was, but that it resembled exactly the sky outside. He looked down again, with apprehension, and saw a small, three-legged stool, in the middle, sat at tattered old wizard's hat, which was being watched avidly. And, suddenly, the seam around the brim of the hat split open like a mouth, and the hat began to sing.  
  
Harry didn't hear most of it. Not only was he shocked out of his senses, but his nerves were still acting up. He couldn't focus enough to hear it. His brain didn't kick and hear, until he heard the houses' names. He became attentive at this, eager to hear what the hat had to say. The hat, apparently, chose which house you were put in. It knew what each of the original founders valued most in its students. Ravenclaw was for the cleverest. Hufflepuff was for the hardest-working and loyal students. Slytherin was for the most ambitious of them. And Gryffindor was for the brave. At the moment, Harry didn't feel like any of these. Professor McGonnagal began reading down an alphabetical list of all their names. Harry watched as each of his fellow first years approached the stool, with varying expressions of fear on their face, and place the hat on nervously. And the hat would eventually yell out a house for the student to be placed in, sometimes instantly, and sometimes after a while of consideration. "Potter, Harry," called McGonnagal at last.  
  
Harry wasn't sure, but he could have sworn that the whole room was quieter than it have been, with an excited tension. Harry stepped forward towards the chair, his heart now working so hard, he could have sworn he could see it beating through his chest. It took ages to reach the stool. He lifted up the hat, sat down, and placed it on his head. The brim slipped over his ears, covering his eyes part way. He sat there, waiting for something to happen, when he heard a tiny voice inside the hat. "Hmm," said the hat, "well let's take a peak! Oh there's talent, for sure. A good mind, no doubt. Oh, and what's this? You seem as though you're willing to face just about anything, very good. Very strong. But still, even more so, there's a sort of yearning. An urge to prove yourself, no? Ah yes, indeed, there it is. But still, where to put you? Tricky, tricky, tricky. Ah, but yes, here we go...SLYTHERIN!" yelled the hat. 


	3. The Feast and Thereafter

Harry noticed that the hat said the last part out loud to the room. A table to the far left clapped for him, but the rest of the students were silent. He took the hat out and placed it on the stool. Now, with the hat of, and able to see again, Harry looked around and saw that the students were all looking at him in a sort of horrified wonder. He stepped forward, and made his way toward the Slytherin table. The relief that had flooded him that the hat had finally decided where to put him was being replaced by fear again. The other students had been received warmly by their table, but they had had a sort of welcome from the other houses, too. But how they reacted to Harry was all-wrong. As he sat down at the Slytherin table, he saw Ron looking at him, obviously intrigued, but also confused. Harry was terrified of this welcome. He looked down his table at the rest of the people sitting there, and wasn't happy with what he saw. While a few Slytherin students waved at him and smiled, others were glaring at him suspiciously. He was also upset to see Malfoy and his goons sitting not far off from him. He had forgotten that Malfoy had been sorted here. The sinking feeling Harry had was just capped by this. He had decided on the train that Malfoy was definitely not the sort of person he wanted to be around. He was reminded forcibly of what Hagrid had told him. All the dark witches and wizards had come from Slytherin house......  
  
Harry felt that this was unfair. He had been placed in Slytherin, and he knew that he wasn't to be a dark wizard. He looked at his table again, his eyes wandering over those who had smiled at him. They couldn't all be worth that bad reputation. So they were ambitious, was that a crime? But as the sorting ended, and the chattering began, Harry could tell from what he heard, that apparently the rest of the school thought so. "Harry Potter in Slytherin?" said a confused Ravenclaw girl behind him. "What does that mean?"  
  
"I don't know," answered a Ravenclaw boy. "But it can't be good."  
  
Harry felt his anger rising. So he was in Slytherin? Big deal! He didn't understand what was so bad about this. The Sorting Hat had it's reasons for putting him there. It knew better than any of them where he should go, and he didn't see how they could talk about it as though it was something horrible he had done.  
  
Then, the room fell silent, and all heads turned to the staff table. An aged old wizard with long white hair and beard had stood. "Hello, all!" he said. "I am your Headmaster, for those of you who don't know. More words later, but now," he grinned widely, "feast!"  
  
Food suddenly appeared in front of them, lining the tables, and the students began digging in. Harry helped himself, although he didn't have much of an appetite. His stomach was flopping with nerves, but at the same time, clenched with indignation. Nobody talked to him for a while. Then, at last, a blonde-haired second year girl slid over to him. Se was one of the few who had smiled. "Hey, Harry," she said amiably. She looked around the room, where people were still watch Harry in horror. "Probably not the welcome you expected, is it? Well, don't mind them. Slytherin's just not a very popular house around the school, and once you get to know them," she jerked her thumb down the table, "you'll understand why. But, don't worry about it. The shock'll wear off. Anyway, I'm Patricia Tiddle, a fellow Slytherin," she smiled even wider. "I just thought I should tell you we're not all bad. And while everyone here may not agree, I think you're quite welcome at the Slytherin table."  
  
Harry smiled thankfully, feeling part of his alarm vanish. If this was what Slytherin was like, he thought, as the girl beckoned her friends over to her, then it couldn't be that bad. "Thanks," said Harry. "But, why does everybody seem to have something against Slytherin House?"  
  
Patricia looked slightly uncomfortable, but smiled nonetheless. It seemed to be her natural expression. "Oh, well, you see, it's kind of ridiculous. But one of the things that the Sorting Hat looks for in the people it selects for Slytherin is the, well, purity of their blood," she chuckled nervously and this and grinned awkwardly. "You see, Salazaar Slytherin, our House founder, only thought that the school should accept students who had a magical family, as well. Kind of silly really."  
  
Here, someone nearby stepped in on the conversation. It was one of Patricia's second year friends. "Very silly," he said, "But nonetheless, since that what he looked for, that's what the Sorting Hat looks for, too. Not only that, though, it just helps your odds. But, anyway, it's given Slytherin House a bad name. We're all supposed to be dark wizards in the making, or something. We're supposed to hate all Muggle-borns, and such. It's really unfair," he scowled, "We can't help being Purebloods anymore than the Muggle-borns can help their family not being magic. Nobody listens to the hat, anymore. They typically don't stop to think about how they didn't say to the hat what House they want put in, and automatically go there. They got put in their house same as we did. But still, being a Slytherin is like being branded a Muggle hater. Sorry, mate. But none of us here," he gesticulated the others who had scooted over toward Harry, "really wanted to be here with that reputation either. I mean, you're not a so-called 'pureblood', are you? Your mum was Muggle-born! How do you like it that almost everybody's going to think you hate your mum for having had Muggle family? I tell you it's not right. I myself am a pureblood, but I have Muggle friends! I went to a regular Muggle school before I got my Hogwarts' letter."  
  
"Yeah," said another girl, "all of us here have been grouped up with that lot," she said, scowling down the table, "and we can't help it anymore than anyone else here."  
  
Harry smiled at them. They were right. It was unjust that Harry should be viewed as some Muggle-hater just because he was ambitious. He looked at his new friends. "Well, that explains a lot," he smiled.  
  
The group around him smiled back. "I'm Sean Kramer," said the boy, "And this is Olga Martin," he said, and the girl to his right nodded at Harry. "It's a shame, but I don't think there'll be too much bonding between you and your fellow first years," he said, looking disgustedly down the table at Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and some first year girls who were all talking loudly about the joys of the Slytherin house. "My advice," said Sean with a smile, "is to get in with some of the others, too. There's too much animosity between the houses at this school. I think that you might be judge the bridge that Slytherin house needs." And with one last group smile, they returned briefly to their meal, before the food vanished from the plates. They looked up again towards the staff table. Dumbledore had risen again. "And now," he said, "that we have all had our filling, it is time to get slightly more serious," he looked out over the sea of students. "First off, I would like to tell all you first years that the Forbidden Forest is, strictly, off limits, and I would like to remind a few older students, too. And also, Fanged Frisbees and Banging Boomerangs have been banned from the school premises. If you wish to know the full list of all 572 banned items, see Mr. Argus Filch, the caretaker. And also, the third corridor is strictly off limits this year, to all those who do not wish to die a horrible death."  
  
This last comment got a few nervous chuckles but the majority of students took a more solemn approach to this announcement. "And, without further ado, I dismiss! Goodnight!" All at once, the students in the hall stood up from their seats, stretching and yawning, and filed out of the great hall. "Can you guys wait up for me?" Harry asked Sean, Olga, and Patricia. Sean nodded, and held the other two back, and Harry hurried over to the Gryffindor table. He saw Ron, just standing, ready to join the bustle out of the hall. "Hey Ron!" called Harry.  
  
Ron turned around, and smiled at Harry, in a more reassuring way than Harry had expected. Some of the apprehension he had be feeling drained away. "Great that you got in Gryffindor, Ron! Your Mum and Dad'll be proud!"  
  
"Yeah," said Ron, nodding, "but Slytherin, Harry, I don't think any of us were expecting that! I've never heard anything, well, good about the Slytherins you know," he added, eyeing Sean and the others. "Oh, they're not all so bad," he said, and then followed his gaze, "and they're not all what you think, either," he added defensively.  
  
"Oh, no, right," said Ron, not sounding reassured. "Well, I mean, you did get put there, so I suppose not, aye?"  
  
"Yeah," said Harry smiling, "I don't think I am at least. But then again, I'm a rotten Slytherin now, are you going to take my word for it?"  
  
Ron laughed this time, "Yeah, well, as long as you don't start hanging out with creeps like that Malfoy, I guess I can trust you," he said. "Well, I'll see you around, aye?"  
  
"Yeah," said Harry, "see you around!" And with that, he ran back to meet up with the others.  
  
"Nice," said Olga, "definitely a start. And that was one of the Weasleys, too, wasn't it?"  
  
"That's Ron, I met him at King's Cross and rode with him on the train. He's all right. You know, why don't you guys attempt to be friendly with the others?"  
  
"Oh, we try, Harry," said Patricia, "believe me we do. But nobody really wants to be associated with Slytherins. That's why it's so great that you're here. You, the one who defeated You-Know-Who, whose parents were known for fighting him? You'll give Slytherin a good name, Harry, you mark my words. Especially if you get along with a Weasley! I mean, I don't really know them myself, except that the twins, Fred and George, hate Slytherin. The whole family is strongly against any sort of foul attitude towards Muggles. Don't trust the whole lot of us," she said sadly.  
  
"But, ah, Harry, we're here!" said Sean, stopping in front of...nothing. The wall was empty, flanked by two portaits not far off. It looked as though a picture had been taken down from here. "Draconus!" said Sean, and the wall suddenly dissolved away into a large doorway. "After you," he said, letting Harry and the girls enter first.  
  
The Slytherin common room was not very inviting. It was dark and dungeon like, sporting green armchairs, lit with an eerie green glow from nearby torches. The few people in left in the common room looked up as they entered and sneered, looking away again. "Right," said Sean, "Harry, maybe we haven't been totally honest with you. We're not exactly the most loved people, even by Slytherin standards." "My lord! Potter, do you seek out the riffraff everywhere you go? You get into Slytherin House, and still manage to find some low-lifes!" cried a oiled and unwelcome voice.  
  
"You're right, Malfoy," said Harry, his temper, which had already been overworked tonight, spilling over, "I do seem to run into riffraff wherever I go. And yet you still won't go away!"  
  
Malfoy's mouth opened as he searched for some retort to throw at Harry. Behind him, he heard someone snicker. "You had better watch your step, Potter" said Malfoy maliciously, "You don't want to cross me. You'll be sorry, just as I bet your parents were." And he turned on his heel, and spun away off to the boys' dormitories.  
  
Harry stood there, shaking with anger at Malfoy. "If I have to deal with him," he said through gritted teeth, "everyday, I don't know how I'm going to make it here."  
  
"Don't we know it," said Olga, turning away to the girls' dormitories. "'Night Sean, Harry. See you in the morning. And stick in there, Potter!" she said, in a ridiculous impression of Malfoy. They all laughed, before they turned off to bed.  
  
"So, who else should I know about who you think I can trust here?" Harry asked Sean. "Hmm, well, you don't have many choices, I'm sorry to say. There are two seventh years who're alright. Klein and Brady. Oh, and a third year named Tricia Gold, she hangs with us a lot. Too bad your year didn't have anyone to promising. Besides you, of course."  
  
And with a wave, they both set off to their separate rooms. Harry saw that his things had been brought up for him, and set at the end of a four-poster bed. There was also a note in his owl cage, that told him Blaise had been sent to the Owlery. Harry smiled. He pulled his pajamas on, and got into bed, pulling the curtains shut around him. He wasn't too comfortable, sleeping in the same room as Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy, but he didn't have a choice. 'Besides,' he thought, 'they won't attack me. It would be too obvious. They wouldn't do anything that risked their own necks.'  
  
And Harry rolled over, pulling his covers habitually to his chin in the warm night air, and fell into a rejuvenating sleep. Hogwarts had proved to be better than all his hopes. 


	4. The Ravenclaw

Harry woke up very early the next day, eager for his first lessons. He had Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, and Potions. He noticed almost right away that the others were still asleep, with definite satisfaction. He quickly got dressed and headed into the common room. He was somewhat let down to find that it wasn't empty. And it wasn't who he had wanted to see in their, either. "Hey, you, Harry," said a burly looking fifth year boy, "Been meaning to have a talk with you, me and the gang here," he tilted his head to the side, indicating two other boys, bot built in the same way, as though they could snap Harry in two, and wearing expressions that said they would be only to happy to do so. "You see, we noticed that you didn't seem to happy to be in Slytherin. And we just wanted to point out that it's not all bad. I mean," he grinned terribly, "You got a few oddballs in here, but we're not all like them. Basically what you get in Slytherin, Harry, are the good wizards. The true wizards. Ones who know the importance of the magical world, and the strength and power that magic gives to a purpose.  
  
"But, most important of all, the ones who realizes that being magical, without a magical family, hardly counts at all," he looked at Harry again, watching his expression carefully, which was suddenly showing interest. "Yes, Harry. In Slytherin you find those of noble, ancient blood and lineage. None of those nasty little mudbloods mucking up our good name," the two sitting in the armchairs looked at Harry's lack of emotion and shared a look that suggested they were about to get something they badly wanted. "And, Harry, we know that you're only a half-blood, and we're very sorry about that, but we don't think that you should feel that you need to go around fraternizing with," he lowered his voice importantly, "blood traitors and Muggle-borns because of it. You're welcome here, Harry, and we invite you to join the true Slytherins. That prestigious position doesn't come around twice in a lifetime."  
  
Harry could hardly believe that they were doing this to him. But he didn't show it, at first, he didn't want to tangle with people so much older and, let's face it, bigger than him. But the comment suggesting that he should be ashamed of his mother being Muggle-born, him saying that that didn't really count as magical, that had tweaked him. The rest of his 'invitation' just topped it off. "So you're saying," Harry began, fighting to keep his voice even, so bad was his anger, "that you think I am ashamed of having a Muggle-born mother? You think I should be ashamed of hanging around people who don't believe I should be? You think I should be ashamed of 'mucking up' Slytherin's good name for being a 'half-blood'? Well, let me tell you, I am ashamed," he pointed an accusing finger at them, his voice rising with his temper, "of being associated with people like you! With people who think that just because I'm in Slytherin," he paused for breath, "that I'm going to be ashamed of my mother, my blood, and my friends."  
  
And Harry turned on his heel, and marched toward the doorway, before they had known what had happened. As he ran down the corridor, and up the stairs toward the Great Hall, Harry was thankful that Slytherins weren't selected for their wits, because if they had been, he was quite sure he would have been in the hospital wing by now.  
  
He hurried to the great Hall, so that at least if they caught up with him, there would be witnesses around. He made for the Slytherin table, wondering briefly why they separated the houses during meal times, too. Nobody was at his table yet. He didn't feel like sitting alone, that would make him an easy target. So he looked around, and saw a pretty dark-haired girl sitting alone at the Ravenclaw table. He walked over to her, only vaguely aware of the Slytherin serpent patch sewn into his robes. "Hi, there," he said conversationally. She looked up at him. Her eyes first stopped on the snake, before drifting up to his face, and further to his forehead. She looked like she was about to tell him off, though he couldn't be sure, so he continued quickly. "Seeing as how we're basically the only two here, and I have an army of Slytherins out to have my head, I was wondering if I could sit over here for the time being. You know, until the Hall starts to fill up?"  
  
The girl looked at him, unsure for a moment. Harry blushed slightly. She was pretty. He was taken aback by his own nerve to talk to her at all. But, at last, to Harry's great relief, she smiled. "Well, sure. If you've got Slytherins down your neck, then you're a friend. Harry Potter, right? I'm Cho Chang," she smiled, her teeth sparkling like perfectly even pearls, "You know, you gave the school quite a shock the other night. Being sorted into Slytherin. I mean," Harry felt embarrassed as her eyes looked him up and down, "you don't exactly seem like Slytherin material."  
  
Harry smiled at her. "Well, I might be more than you think. I mean, look at me now? Talking to you, an older girl, on my second day here, with the nerve to come and sit at another House's table? That sounds like a pretty cocky Slytherin move to me."  
  
She laughed softly. "Yeah, but most Slytherins wouldn't want to come to another table. And besides, you don't talk down to me. That's different than any Slytherin I've known." She smiled that astonishing smile again.  
  
They both turned around suddenly, when they heard the doors to the Great Hall fly open. Students began pouring in. Harry spotted his Slytherin friends in the bunch. "You know," he said for what seemed like the billionth time, even if it has only been to himself before, "not all Slytherins are like that. Only the ones that people choose to notice."  
  
And with a smile and a nod, he excused himself from the table, and ran and caught up with Patricia and the others, sitting down next to them. "Well, aren't we in a good mood today?" smiled Olga. Harry laughed. "Not what you would expect after what I went through earlier," a sudden shadow clouded his brow. He related the events in the Slytherin common room.  
  
Afterwards, they all looked at him in a sort of stunned adoration. "Boy, I don't see why you aren't in Gryffindor, 'cause that took some courage," said Sean at last, with a low whistle.  
  
Patricia nodded. "It explains why we saw you 'fraternizing with the enemy', at least," she added with definite sarcastic tones. "Ravenclaw might have been fine for you, too. Smart move, seeking out a witness. Those goons aren't brave enough to attack in front of people. And besides," she too smiled, conspiratorially, "I think you might have enjoyed the company more," she said, looking over Harry's shoulder.  
  
Harry followed her gaze, and saw Cho quickly turn away. She had been watching him. Harry felt himself turn red. "Oh come on!" he said, in feigned disgust, "hardly! I hardly know her! She's only...it's just because...because I'm not what she expected."  
  
Sean nodded seriously, "Indeed, mate. But that don't mean she doesn't like what she sees!"  
  
Harry eyed them all. "You lot are disturbed, you know that?" He laughed happily.  
  
"So, what's your schedule, Harry?" asked Olga interestedly.  
  
Harry concentrated, trying to remember without looking. "Let's see. Before lunch..I've got  
Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, and..." he thought for a moment,  
"Oh, right. Potions."  
  
Harry watched them wince slightly, before putting on large false smiles. "What?" Harry asked, somewhat scared and annoyed. "Come on now, why'd you all do that? When I said Potions? What's wrong with that?"  
  
They exchanged looks, before Patricia, who seemed to have drawn the short straw, answered. "Harry," she asked, "do you know who teaches Potions?"  
  
Harry tried to remember. "Professor...Professor...Snape, isn't it?"  
  
Patricia nodded. "Well, Harry, Snape is the head of Slytherin house. And he's not exactly a...good man. I mean, he's all right to us," she glanced around at the others who nodded weakly, "because we're Slytherins. Normally he saves the worst for the other students. But, you see, we saw Snape last night, when you couldn't, right when the hat had told you where to go, and when you were heading towards us. Harry, he didn't seem happy to see you at all. He sort of...glared at you the whole time. And then when you were put in Slytherin, he looked like he wanted to spit on you the whole time. He hardly stopped looking at you. Sorry, mate," she said, truly apologetically, "but you seemed to have crossed him already, and he's not a good man to get on your bad side."  
  
Harry was appalled by this piece of information. He had noticed one of the staff looking at him, but thought nothing of it. A lot of people had been looking at him. He had been a greasy black haired, hooked nosed man. And he agreed. He definitely didn't look like the sort he wanted to cross. "Oh no," Harry moaned, putting his head down in his hands, and grabbing fistfuls of his hair.  
  
"Harry," said Sean, "just don't do anything to upset him. Really. Be extra- attentive. Kiss his wrinkled old--" he appeared to catch himself "--feet-- if you have to. Take notes of everything he says. Be sure to do everything exactly the way he says. But do not," he looked pleadingly at Harry, "I repeat, do not volunteer any information. Be a super-suck-up when you have to, but otherwise, keep as low a profile as possible. But on the brighter side," Sean began, with a definite note of cheeriness in his voice, "your other classes are just fine! Flitwick and Sprout are great, and McGonnagal's rather strict, but if you keep in line, you'll get on fine. And, blimey, Harry! Don't let Snape get you down! It's your first true day at Hogwarts. Live it up."  
  
And with a few more bites of marmalade and toast, the bell rang, sending them off to their classes. "And HARRY!" called Olga, as she was carried away by the crowd, "stay away from your Slytherins...!" Harry waved after her, and set off to find his classroom. 


	5. A Tardy, A Feather, and the Kettle Beetl...

The transfiguration class was on the first floor of the school, in a well- lit classroom, with a more inviting appearance than his common room. He arrived just when the bell rang, running into the classroom at last minute. After his late exit from the cafeteria, he had made the mistake of going up to the second floor, and realized his mistake only when a painting of a stern looking witch yelled at him to get to class, and pointed him towards McGonnagal's downstairs when Harry asked her how to get there. Professor McGonnagal looked at Harry disapprovingly, but turned her back, writing on the blackboard at the front of the class as Harry took his seat. His own Slytherin first years were already there, and paired off at tables in the classroom. He was happy to see that at least he wouldn't have to find an excuse for not sitting with them, besides the truth. Because he was quite sure that if he told them he wasn't sitting with any of them because they were arrogant prats, it wouldn't end well for him. They had class today with the Hufflepuffs. Harry looked down the rows of desks and saw that tuffs had already empty seat. Three Hufflepuffs had already sat down here, and were looking wearily toward him, attempting to arrange their supplies on the empty seat. He recognized only one of them. Hannah Abbott, who had been sorted first. He knew the other two by face, but didn't know their names. He had been too preoccupied during the ceremony to take much notice of everybody.  
  
Harry made to sit at the empty seat next to them, despite their frantic movements to occupy the seat. "Er..." he said, looking at the three of them, and then down at the empty seat. "Would you mind if I...?" he gestured toward the seat, with a slightly sheepish grin. He had felt fine and confident this morning during breakfast, but some of his old nervousness seemed to be taking hold of him again. His courage of confrontation seemed to have been used up. But he knew he had to try. Besides, it's not like he or they had a choice. There was nowhere else to sit, unless he sat by himself, and he didn't think the professor would like that. The Hufflepuffs seemed to realize this as well, and, resentfully, began clearing the seat once again for him. He helped them and sat down at last. Professor McGonnagal had already begun teaching. She was talking them through the basic concepts and practical uses of Transfiguration. Harry listened intensively, taking down notes as fast as he could. Everything sounded so new and fresh and magical. He wanted to absorb all of it as fast as he could. However, he was still slightly distracted. He wished he could get to know his table partners better, especially since the seating chart was passed around, labeling them to that particular spot for the ret of the year. He was, at least, able to learn the names, finally, when it came around. They were Amelia Bones and Ernie Macmillan. He looked at both of them, attempting to permanently attach the names to the faces. He heard a sharp rapping noise at the front of the classroom, and saw McGonnagal with a ruler, gazing impatiently at him, apparently irritated that he was no longer taking his frantic notes. He quickly grabbed a piece of parchment and began again.  
  
By the end of class, Harry realized just how difficult this whole magic thing was going to be. It was far more complicated than he would ever have imagined. He cradled his hand, massaging it as they exited the room, trying to rub some life back into it. He had taken three and a half feet of notes in one class! Harry knew that this was why the Sorting Hat had put him in Slytherin. Had it not said he had a 'thirst to prove himself'? 'I shouldn't be so worried,' though Harry, still caressing the pained hand, 'didn't it also say that I had talent?' It was that loud voice saying this that he had heard in Diagon Alley. And once again it once followed by the same small voice, though louder this time. Harry had become friendly with this voice of his. He came to thin of it as his conscience, or his reality check, more accurately put. At last he had gotten through the hustle at the doorway and burst freely into the corridor. Now was his chance to make a better impression on his Hufflepuff tablemates. He found the three talking in low voices by a statue of an ugly, warty looking witch. They had been joined by another Hufflepuff boy, who had been sitting the next table over. Harry walked up to them, determinedly, smiling. "Er--hi," he said, hopefully; he was greeted by a less than enthusiastic group 'hello'.  
  
Harry smiled at them. "Well, um, since we're going to be sitting together for the rest of the year, I, um, well, I just thought we should get to know each other a little better, you know?"  
  
The four exchanged looks. Ernie and Susan seemed weary, but Hannah and the boy Harry didn't yet know looked as though they thought this was the right thing to do, even if they weren't looking forward to it. Harry saw the boy he didn't know make to shake his hand, but found Ernie had gotten there first. "Quite right you are, Harry Potter!" he said with a very pompous air. "Yes, we must get to know each other, as we're already stuck with each other"--he chortled slightly--"so, anyway, my name is Ernie Macmillian, and this," he turned to his friends with each introduction, not once letting go of his hand, "is Amelia Bones,"--he pointed to a short, skinny brown-haired girl on his left--"Hannah Abott,"--he pointed to the girl with straw- colored hair in braided pigtails, who curtsied slightly--"and Justin Finch- Fletchly," he finished, pointing to the boy Harry hadn't known.  
  
Harry smiled at each of them in turn, and inclined his head slightly in affirmation. Ernie still hadn't stopped shaking his hand. "We're all very pleased to met you, too, of course. Who wouldn't be! Harry Potter, after all. You're famous, you know. Oh my, though! We're going to be late for class. Come on!" he said, at last letting go of Harry's hand, and bustling up his friends, "See you, Harry!" and he had disappeared around the corner before Harry could say goodbye.  
  
Harry gaped after him, his hand still raised in front of him, red from Ernie's endless ringing. That hadn't been nearly as hard as he thought it would be. It required a lot less of him talking than he had imagined. He stood there in shock for a moment, and then jumped when he heard the tardy bell. He had Charms to get to! He ran off to get to class, knowing that this wasn't a way to make a good impression with the teachers on his first day.  
  
He was upset to see that he had Charms class with his fellow Slytherin first years, only. No excuses for wherever he sat. Resignedly, he picked a seat in the front row, next to a very thick girl, who looked as though she could snap Harry in two. He recognized her as Pansy Parkinson. He didn't like this, and neither did she. He was glad he had decided to sit at the front. The way he figured it, the closer he was in eyesight and earshot of a teacher the better. He was pretty sure that he wasn't going to like his Charms class too much.  
  
"Hello class!" called a happy, high voice.  
  
Harry started a little at hearing it, because he couldn't see who had said it. He heard Pansy snicker at him. He looked around for the teacher, who was still talking happily to him and the rest of the class about Charms, and he eventually had to see where everyone else was looking to figure it out. Harry realized he had been skimming the air about two feet above his teacher's head. He looked down at the tiny Professor Flitwick and smiled at the grotesquely cheerful face. Flitwick smiled back, at went to the front of the room, where he had a stack of books to stand on so that he could be seen. "Ah, that's better. Now, class, I realize today is our first day, but I've decided to dive right in. Which is why today we will be practicing the wingardium leviosa spell."  
  
Flitwick rolled up is sleeves and raised his wand, directing it a feather on his desk. "Now, class, be sure to listen to how I say this, and to watch my wand movement. Ready? Wingardium leviosa!" The feather twitched, and then began floating into the air. Flitwick guided it over the class with his wand before setting it gently down onto his desk again. "Now class, you try."  
  
The class became suddenly loud as everybody attempted the spell, some causing their feathers to roll, and others to singe. Harry looked at his feather and thought. 'How did he say it? Wing-aar-dium levi-O-sa. Okay, I think I got it. And how did his wand move again?' Harry practiced the flicking motion with his wand. 'Swish and flick,' he thought to himself. 'I heard him say that, I'm sure. Swish and flick.' Harry stared at his feather intently, and tried it for the first time. "Wingarium leviosa!" he said, moving his wand with his words, pointing down to the feather.  
  
To his shock it twitched and rose a few inches off his desk into the air. He pulled his wand back in surprise and it floated down again.  
  
Pansy had turned to watch him, and he heard her sniff at him before turning back to her own feather. "Mr. Potter!" cried Flitwick happily from across the room, "Oh yes! That was it! You did it! Class watch! Mr. Potter has made his feather float! Give it another go, Harry!"  
  
Harry blushed uncontrollably. He didn't want to do it in front of the whole class. But then he thought about what that fifth year Slytherin had said to him earlier that morning. 'Harry, we know that you're only a halfblood..' echoed the boy's voice. 'That's what they all think,' said his own, 'that you can't do it. That you're not wizard enough!'  
  
"Wingardium leviosa!" Harry heard his voice cry out.  
  
His hand had moved automatically, and he looked and saw his feather floating upward, now several feet above his head.  
  
"Good show, Mr. Potter! You're only the second person I've had who could do that all day! Ten points to Slytherin!" said Flitwick with smile before he began bustling around the classroom to help other students with their spells.  
  
Harry heard the students begin with their incantations again, which were still being said wrong. He could feel their hateful eyes burning into him. He didn't care, until it began to feel like more than just eyes. "Ouch!" he cried, jolting out of his chair, his hands flying to the back of his robes, where a curl of smoke was rising from. He smothered it out with his hand, hearing the laughter rise around him. He turned on Pansy who was watching him laughing the loudest.. "Yes, that's something to be proud of," he hissed at her, taking his seat again. "You can start small fires when you're trying to make things fly. Bravo." Her eyes flashed momentarily, but she continued on snickering, her feather now smoldering on her desk with each renewed attempt at the spell.  
  
At last, they were dismissed from Charms. Harry sighed with relief, since he couldn't have known that Herbology class would be much worse. Herbology was his class with Ravenclaw. A tiny, tubby witch by the name of Professor Sprout taught the class. She seemed good-natured in general, but didn't seem too pleased to be teaching at the moment. She appeared that she would have been much happier to care for her plants alone than leave them in the care of this particular batch of students. Looking around, Harry couldn't blame her. He wouldn't have trusted any life within the reach of Crabbe or Goyle, who were both on their third potted Fire Pod Fern, having already broken two of theirs in half after causing them to spit fire bubbles at them after setting of their defenses. He didn't meet anybody in this class. The Ravenclaws seemed determined to ignore anything that was in green or black, which, Harry noticed, was making it difficult for them to work with their plants. Harry was beginning to get the feeling that either he was going to have a very lonely school year, which would not be a new concept to him, or he would have to try to talk with his own first year Slytherins. The idea appalled him, but, then again, what was the point of uniting the houses if you didn't get to find out the good side of the bad ones too?  
  
'Besides,' thought Harry, 'No one else is going to take the initiative to do it. If they don't meet anybody but those like themselves, they'll never change. And if it has o be someone, who better than me?' 'Then again,' his own thoughts added, 'do you think you're up to the job of changing that?' He was watching Malfoy and his cronies, who were currently placing a beetle down a Ravenclaw girl's neck, who's preoccupation with her fern, and the dazzled look on her face as she watched the fiery bubbles, told Harry that she was probably Muggle-born. When Malfoy and the others went back to the pots to watch safely from a distance, Harry scooted over toward the poor girl. Luckily, Professor Sprout began telling them how to handle their fire ferns properly without making them angry (necessarily as Crabbe and Goyle had snapped two more), giving him cover, and Harry grabbed the beetle out of her hood, just as it was making to crawl down her neck.  
  
The girl flipped her head around suddenly, as soon as he had withdrawn his hand, and glared at him. Harry jumped back in surprise, and took on a rather guilty look, knowing that he would be caught for having removed the beetle, and the other Slytherins would know. The girl looked first up at his forehead, then to his guilty face and his open hand, in which a gleaming beetle was making its way up his sleeve. She pursed her lips at him. "Well maybe you won't try that again! How immature! Then again, you Slytherins probably never learn. It's a shame they make you go to school with is! Well, at least you're getting what you deserve!" she smirked as she watched the beetle disappear entirely under his sleeve, "Looks like your little, half-wit plan backfired, didn't it?"  
  
Harry, who had attempting to defend his innocence in a series of incoherent sputtering suddenly gasped, rolled up his sleeve, and pulled a beetle, its clamps tight on his skin, off of his arm. The greenhouse filled with laughter, and Harry blushed, realizing just how many people had seen what had happened, and yet none of them probably saw the truth. He expected it all to slowly die down, and he cheeks to cool again, but h felt them growing only redder, hotter. He looked down at his hands, and saw they had turned as red as a hot tamale. He gasped, and jumped up, and tugged on Professor Sprout's robes, who was too preoccupied with her unheeded instructions lecture to have noticed. "Professor Sprout!" he attempted to cry, but instead of his voice, there emitted a loud, high pitched whistle like a tea kettle. Almost all of the class had keeled over in laughter, now, doubling up and clutching their sides. Professor Sprout looked down at him from her stance up on the table top, and jumped so much that her hat nearly fell off, and she had to grab it back on. "Great Scot!" she cried, "You've been bitten by a Kettle Bett---I mean a Keetle Beet- I mean a bug!" she fell clumsily over her words in the excitement. " Haven't had one around her in years! Won't start having them now! They do terrible things to the Mandrakes, poor dears! Come now! Everybody grab a pesticide! We'll get the little bug.er."she looked back at Harry, as though just remembering, "well, just nip yourself off to the infirmary, will you? Good dear!"  
  
And, leaving the hubbub in Greenhouse 1 behind him, Harry made his way to the hospital wing. On the first day. Known as a trouble-maker already. 


	6. The Blonde and the Bluff

He was greeted at the door by a frantic, plump looking sort of woman. She didn't even ask what happened, as the rose-red Harry approached her and gave off a loud whistle. She simply took him in, sat him on a bed, and began mixing a potion in front of him. "It's only the first day, and I've already had to deal with a student who has sprouted leaves from the armpits, and two niffler bites! Really! And now you've gotten bitten by a kettle beetle! I mean, really, how you even came across one is a mystery to me! Hoarding them? Playing a prank? Mixing a nasty potion? We really need harsher security on the things you students bring into this school," she complained, and so on, until Harry became disinterested, and waited for her to give him the potion. He was staring dreamily out the window, when he saw a black-cloaked figure cross the grounds below. He followed the person with his eyes, when suddenly it looked up at him, or at least he assumed it did, though he couldn't see the eyes. Harry felt something burn slightly on his forehead, as he watched the person off. It had felt like someone had pressed a needle in his scar, just enough to draw blood. It wasn't exceptionally painfl, just confusing. He felt the scar with his fingers, and examined them to be sure he wasn't bleeding. There was nothing there. He dismissed it as nothing more than a twitching nerve. He was rather nervous, now, after all. He had heard the bell to the next class ring already, and he was eager to get to his next lesson. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, didn't seem to be in a great hurry to mix the potion either. She was still bustling back and forth between cupboards for various supplies and complaining about how unsafe the school was. When she had at last fed him a potion that felt like an icy syrup as it slipped down his throat, and had applied a pink paste that smelled like salmon under the bandage on his arm, he was off with his pass. He was five minutes late to his next class: Potions.  
  
Harry hurried down into the dungeon, and ran into the classroom. A pale, greasy-haired man with a large, hooked nose stood at the front of the class and stopped in midsentence of what appeared to be his beginning of the year speech. There was a squeaking of chairs as the class turned in their seats to look at Harry, standing by the doorway. He walked in, going red again as the eyes followed him, feeling almost as though the Kettle Beetle bite was acting up again. "Sorry, Professor," he said sincerely. "I had to go to th hospital wing. I have a pass here from Madam Pomfrey to excuse me for being- --"  
  
"Mr. Potter," said the man, so maliciously that it made Harry stop making his way to his seat, and stand straight, looking at him. "It is not up to Madam Pomfrey to decide whether or not your absence is justifiable. Or whether or not you are excused. For it remains that you have missed out on five minutes of my class, and are wasting another five on useless explanations. You ar not excused. You will only get half credit for class today, and you will never be late to my class again. Am I understood?" Harry was taken aback by the teacher's blatant malice towards him. His embarrassed blush grew even hotter, but this time with anger as well. "Oh.." he said, "Um, yes Professor Snape," he said, remembering the warnings he had received about this teacher in particular.  
  
Snape looked hard at him, eye to eye, and Harry found himself looking straight back. 'Why am I doing this?', he thought, still not turning away his stare. Something boiled up inside his chest, and swelled inside him. It was anger, changing also into the pride of facing down Snape. 'Snape,' he thought, shocked at his own malice, 'sounds like snake. A serpent. A greasy, slimy, slithering serpent..' The stare-off lasted not long, but the class, which had had a background murmur of voices before, students taking the brief interruption as a chance for a break, was silent again. The seconds passed like infinity between Harry and his Potions professor, and all eyes were on them. "Potter, you will take your seat now, and I will not tell you again. Or I will deduct points from Slytherin, my house or not. I'm quite sure that your fellow Slytherins would not be too happy with that either."  
  
Harry's eyes' broke away from Snape's for a moment and flickered towards Crabbe and Goyle, and back to Snape, who was smirking knowingly. Harry heaved his backpack, and made to sit at a table next to Ron's cauldron. Ron smiled slightly at him, thankful to have a partner if nothing else it seemed. The Gryffindors all seemed to have already become well acquainted with one another, and had broken off into groups. Harry was slightly envious of them, having not found a person that was acceptable as an acquaintance among his own class. Before he could set his things down, though, Professor Snape put a long-fingered, calloused hand down on his shoulder, and pushed him back. "Potter, that is the Gryffindor side of the classroom, and you are not a Gryffindor. You'd do well to remember that."  
  
He didn't let go of Harry's shoulder, but led him over to the Slytherin side of the room, his fingers now digging into his shoulder, and with such a force that Snape's push solely propelled the reluctant Harry across the room, his heels sliding across the stone floor. Embarrassed about being treated like such a child, Harry stepped away from Snape and shook his hand off, walking over a taking a seat on his own. He put his stuff up purposefully noisily, and took as long as possible to adjust his things, looking as innocent as possible while doing so, not once daring to look up at Snape, who stood behind his desk at the front of the classroom, watching Harry struggle to get seated. Harry hadn't even noticed where he had taken his seat. He had turned out to sit next to a skeletal girl, with startlingly uncommon features. She had white-blonde hair that fell in curls around a round face, and had small, narrow eyes that had the color of a wolf's. Her eyelashes and eyebrows where snow white and blended in perfectly with her complexion. Harry was shocked to realize he hadn't noticed her before, despite the startling contrast she made against her black robes. He smiled at her in greeting, and the girl looked back at him in horror, as though only finally realizing that he meant to sit next to her. She made an attempt at a smile back to him, but she quickly turned her head away, and said in a whisper that cut through the silence of the room, "Dirty halfblood." The room tensed, and Harry looked around and noticed that the Gryffindors had stiffened in their seats, and were glancing over at him as though waiting to see what he would do. Many Slytherins, on the other hand, had turned in their seats and were smiling at him, amused. Harry felt his anger that had been building up in him since the day began at last break through the dam he had built to keep it back. He visibly relaxed and let out a quiet laugh that stopped class once again. (Snape had continued teaching through the girl's comment, but had now put down his wand, which was guiding a piece of chalk lazily across the board, and turned to watch what happened.)  
  
Harry smirked at the Slytherins, and smiled all around the room, before turning to the girl. "Yep," he said with what seemed to be sincere happiness, every one of his teeth showing as he spoke out of mirth. "That was my mum's fault. She was a Muggle-born, all right! I mean, who cares about her having been a witch," his eyes flashed menacingly, and the girl, who had thus far been listening to him approvingly with a knowing smile, leaned away from him in her chair, and her smile faded into a look of fear, covered by stoic determination to not show her fear. "I, mean being a witch all your life and even attending Hogwarts and graduating and such, why that counts for nothing, seeing as how all her family hasn't done it," his voice remained steady as he spoke, with the same tone of sincerity, which his grave look had since disproved. "So, I guess that makes me a filthy halfblood. Professor!" he said, waving his hand in the air. Snape merely glared at him, not answering him. "Professor, this side of the room my be my fellow Slytherins, but I'm scumming up their half of the air by sitting over here. I don't want to make any of the feel dirty, so I believe that I should move over with Gryffindors. I don't think they'll mind having a 'dirty halfblood' like me with them, what do you say?"  
  
Snape continued to look at him, and snarled, "No, I wouldn't want you to distract the Slytherins, now would I? But..tsk tsk tsk..I think that since you're from another house, it might cause some distraction among the Gryffindors, too. So here," he waved his wand in the air and made a stiff wooden chair appear, with a single person desk as well. It was right in front of Snape's seat. "Why don't you join me? I promise that you shall not deter me from my work.again. Come on. Now, Potter," he added with a smile at Harry's reluctance.  
  
Harry noticed it as well, but didn't want anyone to think he cared. He bravely walked to the front of the room, set his things down, and looked expectantly up at Snape with a self-assuredness that he did not know himself to possess. He thought that it had been stamped out after the years of torture at the Dursley's house. But with this fresh batch of bullies and humiliation, Harry found himself with a power to do something about, given to him by the clarity of retrospect, knowing that he did not want Hogwarts to become like Privet Drive. 'Here,' he promised himself, 'I will not be afraid.' 


	7. Thoughts into the Third Corridor

The rest of his Potions class Harry spent doing exactly what he had been told by his new friends. To avoid his fellow Slytherins....and not piss Snape off. 'No matter how tempting he makes it', Harry thought, gritting his teeth, and brutally chopping his moon leech. He wasn't really focused on what he was doing, though he knew this was the class he needed to focus in more than any other. In this class, he'd have someone hoping for any excuse to fail him...or worse.

Luckily for Harry, class was over only a short ten minutes after being moved to the front of the classroom, and object of ridicule and hatred. When the bell rang, he was the first one out, before many others in the room had even stood up from their seats. "Potter," called an unpleasant voice after him. 

Harry stopped, and could tell that everyone else in the classroom had as well, even though he had not turned around. Everyone was eager to catch come more of the drama. "I expect to see you in detention next Friday. I will inform you of the date and time later."

Harry didn't even pause in his frustration. As soon as he realized Snape was finished talking, he walked on, without showing any recognition of him. In a foul mood, with a foul temper, Harry went of to lunch. He wasn't particularly hungry. But he needed to talk with Sean and the rest. 

On the way to lunch, Harry forgot his way, lost in his thoughts. **_'I don't get it. I've done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment. So he has a problem with me thinking that I'm better than the rest of the Slytherins? Well I _AM_ better than them! Why shouldn't I let them know it? They're not renowned for their bravery, cunning, or hard work. But _ME_. Well I was considered for all of them.' _**

Harry shuddered and forced this voice out of his head. That wasn't right. Harry knew he shouldn't think that way, and yet....it had become his mind's most prominent voice of late. How _he_ was the one who would change everything around for Slytherin. How _he _was the one that everyone depended on. How _he_ had the qualities that would bind all the Hogwarts houses together.

"What's wrong with me?" Harry wondered aloud to himself. "What am I becoming?"

The nasty little voice sneered. **'_Only who you were born to be....'_**

Harry didn't know why, but hearing himself think in that voice terrified him. Tears welled threateningly in his eyes, and he swallowed a growing lump in his throat. "No," said Harry firmly, "I was born to be good, and...._human_."

**_'And what else would you be? But there's so much more you could be to humanity. You could be the best. The very best. Paragon of humanity.'_**

The change of phrasing had not been lost on Harry. Instead of the voice speaking as though it was him, anymore, it was speaking of him as another. "Who are you?" he asked the voice. **_'Whoever you are to acknowledge me.'_**

Harry abruptly jerked back into reality at the sounding of a loud , quick noise. He looked down and realized he had bumped into a lamp stand, and sent the lamp spilling to the ground. He also realized that wherever he was, he should not be. In his interrogative daze, he had stumbled aimlessly into the Third Corridor. Horrified with himself, Harry tried to remember how he had gotten in here in the first place. He turned around, hoping he could find his way out again. He began trying every door on the way. He had definitely walked through a door. The only problem was that all the doors back this way appeared to be locked. 

Turning back abruptly from yet another locked door, Harry ran into someone head on. "What do you think you're doing?"


	8. The Two Faced Friends and Fluffy

(I think I may have given too much away with this chapter title. Things you're not supposed to know until later in the story. If you think you've figured it out, review me with your answers!)  
  
Harry sprawled back on the floor from the force of the collision, though the person he had run into had barely stumbled. "I'm sorry, I didn't..." he began, and then looked up at Sean and smiled.  
  
"Sean! Thank God! How did you know I was down here? I'm so glad it was you and not..."  
  
Sean nodded quickly in understanding of the unspoken name. Snape. But Sean had not returned Harry's smile. "Harry, you shouldn't be down here. This is the Forbidden Third Corridor! Come on! You're lucky it was me who found you, and not someone else!"  
  
Sean turned around and looked down the hallway, looking for the same door Harry had come through, no doubt. "I saw you, and tried to get you to come to lunch, but you seemed distracted. Not without reason probably," he added with a grim smile, and Harry nodded in response. "Well, I think this is a likely looking door. Alohomora!" he said the incantation, and the lock snapped open. "You'll learn that one a little later," he added with a sardonic smile.  
  
Suddenly, they heard footsteps down the hallway, and a light growing at the end. They exchanged looks, and then through the door open, and ran inside, quickly closing it again as quietly as they could manage.  
  
Harry, dangerously, risked placing his eye to the keyhole and looked out. 'Ew!' Harry thought, looking at a slouching, almost slithering man, who looked raggedly filthy and sick. 'He looks like a gremlin or something! And look there! There some tattery cat following him!'  
  
"That would be Filch," said Sean, leaning against the wall next to the door with his eyes closed, heart beating fast from the narrow escape.  
  
Harry was still peering out the lock, waiting to see if the coast was clear, when he heard Sean breathe in sharply, and grab Harry's arm.  
  
"What's wrong....?" Harry started, but didn't finish. He had already turned around.  
  
Harry would not forget the scene in a hurry, but not for lack of trying. He took it all in, in a quick flash, as though a camera had just snapped the scene into his brain. And while his mind was busy photographing the scene, his eyes and his horror were focused solely on the creature in front of him: a massive beast---canine like--- that filled the whole room, from ceiling to floor. And three large, foaming mouths were now snapping at Harry, trying hard to reach him, but restricted by a small chain, fastening them to the ground, that Harry wished was about ten inches thicker.  
  
"Harry, come on!" yelled Sean, and for the first time, Harry noticed that Sean had been pulling him by the arm toward a now open door. "Even Filch is better than this!"  
  
And, through Sean's efforts and his own semi-consciousness, they managed to fall back into the hallway, and, as soon as they had use of their legs again, slammed the door shut, snapping automatically locked, and ran.  
  
Sean lead the way, straight for a door on the opposite wall about five doors down. Harry had never been more grateful for anything than when he passed through into that empty stairwell with all his limbs intact.  
  
"What was that?" Harry gasped between breaths.  
  
"That," Sean said with an ironic smile, "was Hogwarts in a nut shell." 


	9. The Voice Breaks Through

Harry and Sean shakily made their way to the Great Hall to finish out the lunch period, though neither felt much like eating.  
  
Sean insisted that they go, though. "You don't need to make anyone suspicious. You know what I mean. You shocked everyone, and are not the most trusted person at Hogwarts. Oh, and Harry."  
  
Sean stopped him, and looked at him worriedly. "Don't mention what just happened to anyone. Anyone. But especially Olga and Pat. They have enough worry to deal with," he turned and nodded pointedly in disgust toward the Slytherin table.  
  
Harry followed his gave and watched in disgust as peas flew at them, via Malfoy and some older boys, to the shrill giggles of some swooning third years. However, Harry also noticed that the peas never actually hit the girls. It all bounced away from the, a few inches before any contact should have been made. Sean followed Harry's confused gaze, and then smiled ironically. "We've learned to adapt. We figured that one out around the end of last year. It's an extended shield charm. Keeps all the smaller attacks away."  
  
Harry considered this, but was still angry. So they had stopped one form of attack for the rest of this year. But the fact that people like larger forms of Malfoy had gotten away with this for at least the two previous years, and would continue getting away with more he couldn't handle it. He made his way toward the culprits, leaving Sean describing his first day back only to himself and the empty air beside him. It wasn't until he noticed Pat and Olga looking worried and nodding down the table that he realized something was wrong. And then he saw Harry and his heart sunk. But he was already well out of arm's reach.  
  
"Hello, Malfoy."  
  
"Hello, Potter."  
  
There was a long pause during which they glared at each other with identical looks of vindictiveness.  
  
"Did you have something to say, Potter," Malfoy said at last, launching another pea down the table with a flick of his spoon, "or have you realized your mistake at last and want to get away from them? Well, I have to tell you, Potter, I think the offer may have expired."  
  
"I just came down here to tell you, all of you, that I'm going to change things around here. Don't mess with them. Don't mess with me." Harry eyed each one in turn, "I will make you pay for the Hell you give me. Any problem of mine I will make yours."  
  
The group stared at him in horror. Harry stood frozen to the spot. That voice. that was not his voice. It had been cold, shrill, and cruel. It had been his, as in that it was his vocal chords, but it was still not him somehow. Stunned, Harry simply walked away, leaving the Slytherins looking curiously after him.  
  
Harry sat in between Pat and Olga, and immediately dropped his head onto the table on top of his arms. His shoulders slumped and he shut his eyes, and thought. He didn't know how he felt about this voice. It bothered him that it was so much louder than usual. He had always had that voice in his head, but he couldn't remember it ever sounding so sharp, and never had it broken past his conscience. He had never actually said anything of its influence before. Magic and Hogwarts might be the greatest thing that had ever happened to him, but it was causing something to happen to him as well. 'I don't understand myself,' Harry's thoughts cried desperately, ' I don't understand why my mind is turning on me, just when I'd lost my worst enemies at last! No more relatives, no more rabbit-warren homes and muggles. So I created an enemy in me? And why am I so determined to show up everyone, make them fear me?'  
  
"Harry.." said Olga, and he looked up at her, looking tired. "Hate to disturb you, but lunch is over, and you still have some classes to go to. Harry, is there anything you want to talk about?"  
  
Harry opened his mouth, but then reconsidered. Sean had been desperately attempting to catch his eye, reminding him of what they had earlier discussed. Harry hadn't been thinking about the third corridor incident. But he didn't want Sean to know this. He decided he didn't need anyone else involved with his personal issues. He hadn't known any of them that long, anyway, after all.  
  
"I'm fine," Harry lied. "I'm just upset about Potions class. I'll be fine, though."  
  
Olga and Patricia smiled at him in apparent understanding and waved him on to class. Sean didn't move. He just watched Harry, skeptically. When he saw Patricia and Olga waiting for him, he ticked of a slight smile to Harry and hurried off after them. Harry, thought about this for a moment, but shrugged it off briefly, stowing it away for consideration later. He had other things more immediately demanding his attention. The Hall was empty for a while before Harry got up and left. He had almost forgotten that he had a class to go to. He hoped that Professor Binns wasn't going to be a repeat of McGonnagal. 


	10. Mind and Scar

Harry got into class just in time to beat the bell. Harry sighed and took his seat. The teacher wasn't there, yet. Harry took out his book, some parchment, and his quill, and wrote down the date and class at the top of his notes.  
  
"Harry! Ooh, Harry!" came an eager voice from behind him that Harry found faintly and irritatingly familiar.  
  
He turned around in his seat, and was forced back by a force of bushy brown hair. "I just wanted to talk with you, Harry! I found out something that I think you'd be very interested in hearing!" said Hermione. "So meet me after class-oh!"  
  
Harry turned to the front of the classroom and quickly saw what had startled her. The teacher had appeared in the classroom without making any noise. The door definitely hadn't clicked open and shut, and it seemed to Harry that the old school had a tendency to creak. But Harry wasn't particularly surprised that the teacher hadn't used the door. He was a shivering silver, and oddly opaque. Harry took him to be a ghost, and his assumption was affirmed as he watched him glide through his desk.  
  
Harry took notes throughout the class, but found it particularly boring. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to survive a year in this class, but he would have to try. He was determined to live up to his name in the wizarding world.  
  
Harry's mind wasn't with him in class. It seemed to him he'd left most of the bits of his mind back in the third corridor, and with Fluffy, and at the Slytherin table, with Malfoy. When the bell to class rang, Harry stood up automatically, and headed out of the room, searching for his next class.  
  
"Harry! Oh, Harry wait up!"  
  
Harry stopped. He had forgotten that Hermione had wanted to speak with him. He groaned inwardly. He didn't want to talk to her. He didn't know her well, but he had a bad feeling that this conversation was just going to scatter his mind around the school even more.  
  
"Thanks!" she breathed, catching her breath. "Oh.anyway, Harry, I just wanted to tell you that I extend the hand of friendship from Gryffindor to you and any willing Slytherins! You see, I read Hogwarts, A History and did you know the school was never meant to be segregated into Houses like this? Turns out that Godric Gryffindor and Salazaar Slytherin were actually good friends! And I just wanted to start that friendship again!"  
  
Hermione beamed at having taken such steps as to speak with a Slytherin. Harry felt a little flame flask inside of him. 'What made her think that she would be able to make any difference? She wasn't famous!'  
  
Harry listened to the voice and smiled. He looked Hermione full on, watching her happy eager face, awaiting his response to the offer. "Hermione," said Harry, "it's truly an honor. I have some people for you to meet. But we've got to get to class!"  
  
"Oh no!" cried Hermione. "I've got to get to Herbology! Oh thanks Harry! Bye!"  
  
Harry called goodbye after her, but she was already well out of earshot. Harry smiled. Not only had he apparently made a friend, at last, but he had conquered that voice. He was feeling quite content when he headed off to Defense Against the Dark Arts.  
  
The class was held in a dimly lit room on the first floor that reeked of garlic and some other, rather unsanitary smell. Harry recognized Professor Quirrel and smiled at the shivering man who was waiting by the door to greet the students, his wand at the ready, and a wooden plank in the other hand. He looked terrified of every student who entered, as though the thought that he might have to use either weapon in his hand was one of the most horrible speculations. Quirrel jumped at Harry's acknowledgement, not looking at him, and keeping his back pressed to the wall by the door. Harry took his seat, and awaited the beginning of the lesson. Harry was, surprisingly, one of the first to enter, and had sat down at an empty table. Harry watched the classroom fill around him, his own table staying depressingly empty. They had class with the Ravenclaw house. Nobody wanted to sit with him, after Herbology earlier that day, and the Slytherins had had more than enough of him for the time being. So he sat alone as Professor Quirrel took to the podium near his desk at the front of the classroom. "H-hello c-c-class. My n-name is P-professor Q-q-quirrel. I am your D-defense Against the-the-the Dark Arts t-teacher." He gave a weak little smile. "P-please open y-your b-b-books to page 3 and read the intro- troduction. I will d-d-direct your attention to the b-board afterwards for your n-n-notes."  
  
The class was basically uneventful. They learned the basics to the concepts of counter-jinxing and some laws regarding some of the more controversially 'dark creatures' such a s werewolves and vampires. It wasn't until there was a knock on the door that anything strange happened. Quirrel, froze at the chalk board, his back to the classroom, and Harry felt a twinge of pain in his scar. Much like what he had felt in the hospital wing. Harry had almost forgotten the incident with as much as had happened today. He turned in his seat, the momentary pain subsiding, and saw Professor Snape standing in the doorway. "Professor Quirrel! I have a class in five minutes, and I need the vial I let you borrow returned immediately."  
  
"Of-of course, P-professor!" stuttered Quirrel, looking more scared than usual. "I-I-I have it r-right here somewhere!"  
  
Quirrel disappeared behind his desk, and papers began flying to the sounds of Quirrel's rummaging. This went on for the last five minutes of class. Snape growled, his patience worn. "Never mind! I have to get to my room and teach! But I'll be back after my last class! You better have it!" And he left the room in a sweep of his cloak.  
  
The class began to leave the class, but Harry lingered behind the rest. He had another incident brought to mind that called for immediate attention, and dragged it away from him like the rest of today's events. He now had to share more of his mind with the incident at the hospital wing and now in his last class. Harry was glad that his own classes were over for the day. He found himself heading back to his dormitory, but stopped part way there. He didn't want to return there. He was tired, and needed to sleep. But he also needed to sort out the day's events somewhere quiet and away from the rest of the school. So Harry headed toward the library.  
  
When he got there, a bird-like woman at the front desk sniffed at him. Harry smiled at her quickly, and looked away, going off to find a table among the shelves that was likely to be undisturbed. Once he found a likely looking table, he sat down, putting his head in his arms and clinching his eyes shut, causing fireworks to show before them.  
  
He sat there, breathing fiercely, clenching and unclenching his muscles in sequence in a calming routine he had learned in his years of dealing with the Dursleys. Soon, he was breathing calmly, steadily, feeling altogether relaxed. So he began sorting through his thoughts. The pain..he had felt it in his scar twice in a day. He had never felt it before he came to Hogwarts. Harry was getting suspicious of the pain being possibly connected to a person.the cloaked man on the grounds, skulking, sidling.and his lurking, prowling Potions teacher. But Harry couldn't see how Snape could be the cause of the pain.  
  
Then, the corridor. He had been so distracted by the voice, that he had gone there without even knowing he had. This voice.it sounded like all of the Slytherins he despised to him. But worse. It was a good thing Sean had followed him, to help him out of there, so he wouldn't get caught. A very good thing.very convenient for them both...  
  
Harry struggled to stay awake. He felt like he was on the break of connecting the dots; understanding something important. But a fog was drifting into his mind. A sort of dull thudding sound was pounding rhythmically in the back of his skull. Harry began breathing to the dull rhythm. He didn't know when, but Harry had soon drifted off to sleep. 


	11. After Hours and Flying Class

Harry dreamed. He was running through the forbidden corridor. He was running from something. The creature was chasing him through a labyrinth of halls he knew hadn't been there before, but each one looked identical to the last, all like the hallway he had traveled through that day.  
  
And all the while, the voice spoke in his head. His hissing voice, yelling orders at him, occasionally a hiss emitting from his mouth. "Faster! Faster!" the hiss called out to the pursuing creature. "Don't let him get away!"  
  
Harry felt himself pulling into different directions, one half pulling him toward his follower, the other lunging aimlessly forward, winning out only by the will of brazen fear. Suddenly, Harry's two halves pulled together, and plunged through a doorway. "Perfect..." he hissed, as his mind screamed at him, 'NO! NO! Get out now!' But it was too late. The voice had full control over his body. The voice was him. And it was singing sweetly, walking forward towards the giant Cerberus, it's heads lolling, until it fell before him and began to snore. Harry's mind gasped as the voice-powered Harry looked down. Underneath the dog, there had been hidden a secret.....  
  
"Harry!" said someone, poking Harry in the back. "Harry! It's almost lights out! We have to get back to the dormitory."  
  
Harry picked his head off of the table. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim candle light of the room. Sean was standing above him, with a lantern in hand. I came looking for you after me and the gang got back to the common room, and you didn't show up for over an hour. It's only the first day, we knew you couldn't have that much homework! Anyway, come on. We got to get back soon or,"--the lights all around them extinguished except for the lantern in Sean's hand--"we'll be out past curfew. Oh great! Harry, we've got to move! And we had better do it quietly! Old Filch and Mrs. Norris will be patrolling the hallways now, looking to give detention to any students who are out of the common rooms. And you have enough detention to worry about already.  
  
Harry fulled Sean out of the library, still groggy. It wasn't until they stood outside of their common room, and Sean was speaking that password, that something clicked in Harry's head. He hadn't told Sean he had detention with Snape. But as Sean pulled Harry through the door into the common room, and smled at him for a mission completed, Harry's suspicion subsided. Sean had probably guessed. Harry 's mood probably hadn't been to hard to read at lunch. They went into the boy's corridor, and parted way at their room. "'Night, Harry."  
  
"G'night, Sean," yawned Harry.  
  
He climbed into his bed, and pulled the covers up to his chin, and slept dreamlessly.  
  
____________________________________________________________________________ __________  
  
"Harry! I heard you have Flying Class today!" said Olga at breakfast some weeks later.  
  
"Yeah," said Harry, less than enthusiastically. He wasn't looking forward to the experience. As much as he was sure he would enjoy flying, he wasn't thrilled about practicing on a broom for the first time in front of the Slytherins. The last thing he wanted to do was make a fool of himself on a broomstick in front of them. Even the voice couldn't tell him that he would do well. He was sure he was about to go fall on his face several times, if he could get high enough to do it.  
  
It didn't help that the Gryffindors would be there. There was still blood-chilling animosity between the houses. Harry could tell that it was getting hold of Ron. He looked uncomfortable whenever Harry tried to talk to him, looking apologetically at Seamus and Dean. It's not tat he didn't seem to like Harry. He just seemed to think it would make him 'guilty by association' of the crime of being a piece of Slytherin scum.  
  
But it wasn't just Ron that Harry didn't want to face. It was also Hermione. Hermione's idea of a friendship, it had turned out, was to bother Harry at the library when he was doing homework, and then get snippy with him if he tried to talk to her when she had a book. Plus, it was next to impossible to get her to stop talking to him once she had started. And he was never really even remotely interested in what she was saying. It was usually about some potion or Goblin Revolt that Harry couldn't have cared less about. He did enjoy her company, occasionally. If only it wasn't so constant and informational.  
  
Harry's first few weeks at Hogwarts had allowed him to draw a few conclusions. First of all, always leave for class directly after the last, and at least five minutes before lunch was over, or you were bound to be late. The stairways and suits of armor liked to move around, and portraits were always in other frames, making it hard to navigate your way around the castle. Second, Snape was a git. He had served his detention with him last Friday. He had spent the evening decapitating earthworms and sterilizing wood lice. It had not been pleasant. Then Snape had assigned him a weeks worth of detention in class on Monday for not knowing the answer to a question, (though he had gotten the other five he was asked correctly), and because Snape had said that his common-cold cure potion was purple-ish maroon, not puce. Harry had bit his tongue hard at this comment, until his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. When they tested potions at the end of class, there were five blue, and two orange potions among them, and none of them had received detention. Harry's had managed to cure a field mouse of a bad cough, too. And the last thing Harry had learned was that Malfoy was intent on making life difficult for him. He had informed a tardy Professor Sprout that Harry had come in after the bell, forgetting to mention that he had been shooting sparks at Harry's toes along the way. He had been spreading rumors about Harry, too, among the other Houses, saying Harry said things about 'killing muggle-borns' in his sleep. While most students were intelligent enough to disregard this, Harry noticed many skirt quickly around corners, and double back when they saw him in the hallway they had been walking down. But still, Harry enjoyed being at Hogwarts more than anything else. He excelled in his classes, in general, namely Charms. He had been receiving top marks in class all year, despite Malfoy's attempts to burn his pillows and melt his candles, which he was casting his charm on. He was doing well in Transfiguration, easily his hardest class. He wasn't particularly gifted in this field of magic, but he studied hard, and was able to get through the class with fairly good marks. Defense Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic had turned out to be a joke. He took notes in both, however much he wanted to sleep. He would read them later, and picture horrifying monsters or bloody revolutions in his head in order to be able to plow through the laborous reading. But he was failing Potions. He knew he was doing everything right. But Snape would always find something wrong with his and perfect about Mafloy's. Harry didn't really mind his grades to much. Everybody in his class knew he was doing it right, and he knew he was as well, and was learning everything he needed to.  
  
Breakfast ended, and Harry headed off to the field outside in between the fourth and fifth corridors. "Now class" said a yellow-eyes witch with hair cut like a pixie. "I am Madame Hooch, and it is my job to teach you all how to fly. Not everyone is a natural flyer. Some people accel, for some people it takes work, and others spend their lives with both feet on the ground. But it is my job to sort you out, and get those of you flying who can. So, now, everyone step up to a broom."  
  
Harry moved forward with the rest of the class to the two rows of broomsticks , and stood with one on either side. Next to him were Parvati Patil and Neville Longbottom. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. They weren't Slytherins, and he didn't think he'd look foolish next to them. He had a feeling neither of them would be a great flyer either.  
  
"Now! Stick your hand over the broom to your right and say 'Up!'."  
  
A chorus of 'ups' followed Madame Hooch's instructions. Harry looked around at the results before trying it with his own. Neville's lolled around uselessly. Parvati had managed to get hers to fly upwards, but had jumped backward with a shriek of surprise, falling backwards as she tripped over the hem of her robes.  
  
But Malfoy's had flown straight into his hand, and he was smirking at everyone, sure that they all had seen.  
  
'If he did it, then I can do it,' Harry thought. "Up!" he commanded his broom.  
  
And it jumped obediently into his hand. Harry looked up and straight into Malfoy's face. He had been watching, and swapped his look of surprise for one of resent, eyeing Harry.  
  
"Excellent, class!" said Madame Hooch, even though Harry noticed some people were chasing renegade broomsticks across the lawn. "Now, I want you all to mount your brooms. Now on the count of three, I'll blow my whistle, and you are all to hover upwards ten feet, and then float back to the ground understand?"  
  
In agreement, the class each threw one leg over their broomstick, and gripped the handle as Madame Hooch showed them, Harry laughing inwardly as she corrected Malfoy's grip, who had been so cocky about flying all week. He was bragging to everyone about what a great flyer he was and telling stories, in which he was always flying around, nearly missing being spotted by muggles in planes and helicopters.  
  
"On my whistle, then!" said Madame Hooch, when the class was ready. "One. Two. Thr---NO!"  
  
Neville had panicked. He was now rising into the air. Five, fifteen, thirty feet. "Young man! Get back down here this instant! Wait--no, fly down!"  
  
But it was too late. Neville, unable to control his broom, had be bounced off by his turbulent broomstick. He fell to the ground from nearly thirty feet up, and landed with a sickening crack. The class formed a circle around him. "Are you alright?" asked Lavender. But it was hard to hear her over the guffaws of nearby Slytherins. Harry threw them a malevolent look, and broke through the circle to Neville. "Neville, are you okay?" he asked, helping Neville sit up.  
  
"Lad, come here!" cried Madame Hooch to Neville, having finally made her way toward Neville through the ring of students. She pushed Harry aside, and took a hold of Neville's wrist to help him to hiss feet. He let out a yelp of pain, and Madame Hooch let go. "Oh, tsk tsk, it's a broken wrist my dear."  
  
She took him under the armpit and heaved him up. "I am taking Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. You are all to remain on the ground. Understood? Or I'll have you expelled faster than you cn say 'quidditch'." ((**I love that line!**))  
  
The class watched her and Neville fade into the distance, and then began chatting among themselves. But Malfoy, Harry noticed looked far too happy and pleased with himself for anything bad not to happen. And then Harry noticed something in his hand that had not been there before. "Malfoy, where did you get that?" asked Harry, indicating the small glass orb in Malfoy's hand.  
  
The whole class had stopped talking, and was looking at Harry and Malfoy now. "What, this?" sneered Malfoy, tossing it from hand to hand.  
  
"I know what that is!" shrieked Parvati angrily. "It's Neville's rememberall! You give it back, you bullying twerp!"  
  
"And why should I?" snapped Malfoy.  
  
"Now that's no way to speak to a lady," said Harry, with a steady, calm voice that caused Malfoy's anger to sound weak and trifling.  
  
"I don't see a lady, Potter," sneered Malfoy. "All I see is a dirty little Mudblood lover!"  
  
The crowd of Gryffindors suddenly tensed at the sound of the dirty curse word used agaisnst itches and wizards born of muggle parents.  
  
"Give back the rememberall and apologize to her, Malfoy."  
  
"Well, it's a good idea, but I have a better one. How but I leave the rememberall somewhere for Neville to find? Say, on top of the North Tower? And you can take that apology and shove where the sun don't shine, Potter."  
  
And with that, Malfoy mounted his broom and flew off. Harry didn't even pause to think. Within a second he was on his own broom, and....flying. It was the most wonderful and natural feeling in the world. Harry relished it for a few moments. This was freedom. Then he turned to Malfoy, who couldn't hide his shocked expression. He had turned even paler than before, and was looking at Harry, confounded. Then, his face twitched back into it's usual sneer.  
  
"Give it here, Malfoy," said Harry threateningly.  
  
"You'll have to catch me first."  
  
And Malfoy darted off, intricately weaving to throw Harry off his trail. But Harry stayed on his tail, Malfoy couldn't shake him.  
  
Malfoy stopped and looked at Harry, not know what to do. "Give it, Malfoy, or I'll knock you off your broom!"  
  
Harry darted forward with his broom, and Malfoy pulled out of the way just in time. Harry laughed. "Not so tough without your muscle up here to defend you, are you?"  
  
Malfoy's expression confirmed what Harry had said, as his eyes darted back to the ground, looking hopefully at Crabbe and Goyle. But no help was coming.  
  
"Fine, then, Potter. I'm bored with you. Catch."  
  
And Harry saw everything as though in slow motion. Malfoy through the orb about five feet upward, and then flew away, back toward the ground. Harry's eyes followed the remeberall. And as it began to fall....Harry sped downward after it. He kept going faster and faster to catch up with the rememberall. The ground was coming closer all the while. Until at last, two feet from the ground, Harry felt his fingers slip around the ball, and he tumbled softly onto the grass, his broomstick in one hand, Neville's rememberall in the other.  
  
Both Houses were quiet, contemplating which of them had just won, when an angry voice interrupted their contemplation.  
  
"Potter!" 


	12. The Speaker, the Teacher, and the Spark

Harry turned to look at the person yelling for him, and swallowed hard. It was a fifth year Slytherin named Marcus Flint who had called his name, up in a tower classroom, looking down. "Put down your broom, quick!" he yelled.  
  
Harry was startled. Why was Flint looking out for him? But Harry did as he was told, because he saw someone else coming to the field in a rush. Professor McGonnagal. No doubt she had seen the flying escapade first hand from her own office. But Harry doubted whether she had been able to make out who it was flying. Harry noticed that everyone else had tossed their brooms away as well. No one wanted to even be considered the guilty party. Harry knew that none of the Slytherins would say anything. Giving him away would give Malfoy away as well. But the Gryffindors? He wasn't sure if he could trust them not to say anything. After all, it was a golden opportunity for them. To expel two Slytherins, easily, then and there.  
  
Professor McGonnagal approached, and sniffed loudly, eyeing all of them. "I saw two students in the air. Two Slytherin students," she turned and glared at all of the Slytherins. "Give yourselves up, or I will turn to the Gryffindors for aid.  
  
The Slytherins looked nervously, but all eyes stayed straight towards McGonnagal. She heaved a sigh, and threw her arms in the air. "Fine!' she said, "I'll resort to asking my own House to tell, then! Tell me, now," she said, approaching Hermione, her most trustworthy student, "who was it?"  
  
Hermione looked tormented at the thought of having to tell her that it had been Harry. After all, she had made a bond of friendship with him. Harry almost turned himself in, then, to spare her the pain of having to tell on him. But before he cold say anything, she spoke. "I don't know, Professor," she said, and Harry's jaw dropped to the ground. Hermione lying to a teacher? "I wasn't paying attention, or watching. I was too busy attempting to see if I---if I could cast a charm on my broom to make it steadier."  
  
Professor McGonnagal looked down her nose at the shaking Hermione, and turned away. "Did anybody happen to see who it was, or were you all too busy tampering with school property to notice the duel up there?"  
  
Harry watched everyone, all looking sheepishly at their feet. Harry saw Seamus open his mouth to say something, but Dean elbowed him in the ribs, and shook his head. Harry smiled inwardly. They were all defending him.  
  
McGonnagal was furious. "Fine! Nobody saw anything, I suppose! Will be mentioning this to Professor Snape, Slytherin, and I will see to it that you all receive extra homework, Gryffindor. Perhaps I will be able to sharpen your observatory skills with a pop quiz, some time? Now! As far as I see it, this flying class is over, and I'm quite sure Madam Hooch would agree. All of you, get ready for your next class this instant!"  
  
And with that, she stormed off back towards the castle. The class watched her leave, not moving, and then broke out into loud, angry conversation, mostly on the Gryffindor's part.  
  
"Pop quiz? I can hardly make it through the quizzes when I know they're coming!" complained Dean.  
  
"And more homework? Between Potions and Transfigurations, I'll have no time left in the day! I need an extra two hours a night as is!" said Lavender.  
  
But amid the complaining, the Gryffindors sneaked glances at Harry, and despite their anger, he thought they might be approving. Harry smiled slightly, and walked towards Parvati. She was the only one he had noticed was not complaining. She had defended Neville, too. "Here," Harry said, tipping the Rememberall into her hand. Harry noticed she blushed slightly and smiled when his hand touched herds, but his expression remained the same. "I trust that you'll get that back to him."  
  
Parvati looked Harry straight in the eyes for a brief moment, then looked away and nodded.  
  
"Potter!" called Flint from the tower.  
  
Harry looked up at him reluctantly. He didn't really like Flint, and saw no need to talk to him. But he did owe him for him warning Harry about McGonnagal coming.  
  
"Yes?" said Harry.  
  
"Meet me in the Common Room after lunch! We need to talk."  
  
Harry nodded. "Okay," he called back.  
  
Harry picked up his books lying in the grass nearby, and started back for the castle. He decided that he had best listen to McGonnagal and head back and get ready for his next class. He had Charms. Harry heard others move for their things behind him, and waited up. He might as well head back with the crowd. It might look less suspicious. But he would hang to the back. He knew it would look suspicious if he was getting along with people. However, as he lead the others move around him, two people stopped at either side of him. It was Seamus and Parvati.  
  
"I just want you to know," said Seamus, "that we all appreciate what you did. I still don't know what to think about you. But you stuck up for one of the lowest Gryffindors. And that makes you okay for the time, until you do something sickeningly Slytherin-like and mess it up again."  
  
Harry nodded, showing he understood, and Seamus jogged forward to catch up with Dean. He then turned to Parvati, whose cheeks were very flushed, Harry noticed.  
  
"Um, Harry" she said, "I just wanted to tell you that that was a very brave thing you did back their. Sticking up for Neville. And me. And, um...' she hesitated, and then kissed him on the cheek quickly. "Thanks," she finished, running ahead, not looking at Lavender who was staring back in amusement, waiting to tease Parvati.  
  
Harry smiled and shook his head. In the matter of an hour, he had gone from being hated by all the Gryffindors, to earning a kiss from the prettiest of them. He hiked his books up higher in his arms, and walked on. It had been an interesting morning to say the least. 


	13. A Favor to Flint

The story about Malfoy and Harry's battle on broomsticks spread through the school quickly and silently. By lunch, Harry was sure that everyone except the teachers knew. And he wasn't even sure they didn't. As Harry walked down the halls from class to class, people would stop him and shake his hand, or pat him on the back in congratulations. Each time, Harry brimmed, bursting with pride. 'And why shouldn't I be proud?' Harry thought (*yes, in his real thinking voice*). 'I did something to earn their praise, now. Something that wasn't exactly easy--' '--for most people.'  
  
Harry shook his head, trying to dislodge the lost thought. That stupid voice! He was getting more and more worried about it, but with all his classes, he didn't have a lot of time to figure it out.  
  
"Hiya, Harry," said Sean, gripping his shoulder from behind and startling him out of thinking.  
  
"Hey, Sean," said Harry, grinning.  
  
"Yeah, I heard, said Sean, catching Harry's smile. "Congratulations. Way to show up that prat, and no doubt his traitorous father."  
  
Harry looked at Sean questioningly, but Sean just laughed.  
  
"Oh, never mind. You'll know what I mean eventually. No doubt you'll get to meet him soon."  
  
Harry nodded and smiled bitterly. Just what he wanted; to meet an older version of Malfoy with power.  
  
He was lingering around at lunch that day, finally content sitting amid a crowd of people, as there were a lot less of them talking about him, and throwing him uncomfortable looks.  
  
However, his lunch was still cut short when Marcus came over and tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Yes?" said Harry, turning in his seat to see whom wanted him. Upon seeing Flint, Harry's smile fell slightly, but he got up, excusing himself from the others. "There's something I have to do," he said, and went with Flint off to the common room.  
  
Flint didn't say anything to Harry along the way, but Harry noticed that he occasionally looked back at him, and shook his head, as though in disagreement with himself. When they entered the common room, he gestured towards Harry to sit down in an armchair, and took a seat in the one across from him.  
  
"Potter, I saw you flying out there today. Saw what you did to Draco Malfoy."  
  
Harry nodded, tensely awaiting the rest of what Flint had to say.  
  
"Potter, I could have given your name away to McGonnagal. You know that," he added, somewhat pointedly. " So as far as I see it, you owe me."  
  
Harry nodded in agreement, and Flint smiled. "Potter, I'm calling it in. You may not know this, but I'm captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. You're a good flyer, Potter. And we could use a new Seeker. I'm telling you to join the team, Potter."  
  
Harry looked at him, slightly surprised and confused. He didn't quite understand. From what he had gathered, most people would do just about anything to get to play for their House team. And Flint was telling him to join as a favor? There had to be a catch.  
  
"But, Potter, there is one condition to all of this. If you're going to be representing Slytherin in this, I want you to act more like a Slytherin. All I mean by that, is I don't want to see you sitting with other Houses during meals, or hear that you're avoiding Slytherins in class. And you're lucky that that's all I ask, because I could demand a lot more of you. I could still give them your name, and you know it."  
  
Harry thought. Avoiding other houses would mean that it would appear as though he had turned into a scummy Slytherin. It would make it seem that he thought he was better than everyone else. But on the other hand, Flint could give the teachers his name. That would almost certainly mean expulsion. He couldn't bear the thought of getting sent away from Hogwarts. To go live as a Muggle with the Dursleys. Plus, he remembered the feeling of flight. It was wonderful. Being lighter than air, and floating for tens of hundreds of feet above the ground...but what about Ron and the others?  
  
'You can't let them stand in the way of your success. Just because their feelings will 'get hurt' doesn't mean you should give up something to make you better. They're all just jealous of what you have.'  
  
'Besides,' said Harry's true voice, 'you just can't sit by them in class or at lunch. You can still be with them other times. It's not like you would be ignoring them. And remember, how it feels...?'  
  
And Harry made up his mind. He had to keep flying. It was to good to let go of. Harry was so happy with his decision, he failed to notice that this had been the first time the foreign voice had ever agreed with his normal thoughts.  
  
"Okay, Flint. I'll do it. But you'll have to explain a lot of things to me. I've never actually played before."  
  
Flint smiled. "It's okay, Potter. You're a natural. We'll knock the Mudblood ignorance right out of you." 


	14. Reservations for Flight

Harry's training began immediately the next day. He was called by Flint to skip meals, and spend most of his free time on the Quidditch field, rather than on homework. His teachers were beginning to notice the slip in his work, despite Harry's most desperate attempts to keep up. Some of them sympathized with his workload, and since he was still pulling good grades and turning in his homework regularly, didn't bother him about it. But others, such as McGonagall and Snape, were less accepting of lower quality of work he was handing in. McGonagall, unsurprisingly, simply seemed unwilling to accept any work that was obviously less than his best for a good grade. She also seemed distant towards Harry, now. She obviously knew about his new position on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and seemed unwilling to forgive him entirely for daring to compete against Gryffindor. But any spite she harbored due to his new founds talent, she attempted to overcome or hide. Snape was another story. Harry's position on his team seemed to be almost more than he could endure. If he had hated Harry before, it was almost impossible to tell what it had progressed to at this point. But it wasn't just anger that was tearing at Snape. He seemed torn between cheering for his team and bad-mouthing Harry. He wanted Slytherin to win...the case for the trophy in his office proved that. But how could he possibly want Harry to win and be happy or good at doing anything?  
Harry made his way to the Quidditch field without exactly knowing how he felt about the whole deal. Originally, he had just been excited for the chance to fly, again. But now...well, he wasn't sure if it was worth it. Every relationship he had worked to build seemed to be stressed by the added weight of intra-school rivalry. Harry was beginning to understand just how fickle his friendships were. Sean, Olga, and Patricia were still talking to him, although not quite as much as before. Harry tried to tell himself that it was just because the swing of the school year was underway, and work was overwhelming. After all, he told himself, they were in a higher year than him, he had to remember that. But he knew that couldn't be all of why he was being slightly ignored, deep down. He could tell that they were angry with him for associating with Flint. Harry was angry with himself, even but sometimes that best thing for yourself required making acquaintances where you'd rather not.  
As soon as he was back on a broom, though, all his reservations about joining the Slytherin team seemed to have stuck to the ground. Here he was, flying fast, and nothing evil or angry could catch up with him. 


	15. Bye Bye, Gryffindor

A/N: For those of you who have been following my story, I'm sorry that I havenb't updated in a while. Really, very sorry. I have a terrible tendency to do this. But, I'm NOT going to allow myself to drop this one entirely! I promise at least a chapter update every month from now on! Hopefully, I'll continue all 7 books, too.  
Other note: Hagrid's dialogue, from here on out, will read normal. I can't pen his speech correctly. Therefore, you'll just have to imagine Hagrid's speech!

It was the first quidditch game of the season, and Harry Potter couldn't eat.

Harry was looking down at his toast and eggs as though they had said something terribly offensive to him before stabbing them with his fork and pushing the plate away. He looked pale and almost seasick.  
The Slytherins were doing a good job of not maliciously ignoring him this morning. No one was acting _kind_ toward him, exactly, but the chill that was normally aimed at him had warmed. Apparently the Slytherins were able to be slightly forgiving in favor of winning a Quidditch match.

Not all of them had warmed up, though. In truth, his friends were still acting very cold. They still seemed to feel alienated by Harry's sudden pseudo-acceptance by the rest of the house. The outsiders were offended by his congeniality.

Harry couldn't stand there standoffishness any longer. He rose from where he was seated between Olga and Flint and walked slowly, reluctantly towards the dungeon to change into his robes.  
It was an early game, and the weather was looking prime. A few clouds to keep the sun out of their eyes, no wind to blow them off track. But the weather didn't reassure Harry. He still had terrible images in his head of getting struck by lightning or flung from his broom by a gale, even though he had never felt safer or more comfortable than when he was in the air.

Harry returned from his dorm room, fully dressed in his Quidditch robes.  
He walked through the halls, out towards the locker rooms, and was aware of many eyes burning into him  
"Harry!"

Harry turned to the call, not so much in response to his name as to the beautiful femininity of the way it was spoken.  
It was Parvati. She was running up the corridor, wearing a stunning display of gold and red.  
"I just wanted to tell you," she said as she reached him, cheeks flushed and slightly out of breath, "good luck."  
Harry smiled, surprised. "Oh…um…thanks," he said, angry with his inability to be articulate. "I wasn't…um…quite expecting a 'good luck' from…well…anyone in gold today."

Parvati smiled. "Well, you know, I'm still cheering for Gryffindor. We're going to kick you butts." She tossed her hair rather effectively here, as though to take some sting off of the remark. "But, that doesn't mean you shouldn't do well. But Neal may give you a good run for the snitch."  
Harry smiled. Neal. Neal was the Gryffindor seeker, new this year. From what he'd heard, Neal was a very last minute addition to the team.  
"Oh!" said Parvati suddenly, looking over her shoulder, having heard someone call her name.  
"It's Padma!" she said to Harry, apologetically. "Padma and Lavender. We're all sitting together. We have to go get seats!"  
And with that, she turned and started to walk away. Harry did likewise.

"Harry!" called Parvati back again.  
Harry turned.  
"I just wanted to say," she said, her cheeks becoming pink, "that you look very good in your quidditch robes."  
And then, she turned and ran towards her friends, smiling and waving.  
Harry watched her go, acutely aware of the burning in his face.

Harry didn't really listen as Flint gave his pre-game pep talk. Really, it all equated to: "We've got better blood, so beat them or I'll beat you." He'd heard it all before.  
It wasn't the pep talk Harry needed. He was feeling very conflicted inside. He'd spent about an hour waiting in the locker room alone, waiting for his teammates to join him before the game started. He'd done a lot of thinking in that time. He'd thought, mostly, about how the Gryffindors would feel if he won.  
He was quite sure that they wouldn't be forgiving. He was afraid that they would forget everything he had done and all the bridges he had tried to build.  
Ultimately, he was considering trying to throw the game.  
"Let's go!" whooped Flint in a tone of finality that told Harry that it was time to take the field.  
He rose with his other team mates, swallowed his heart soundly on top of the stone in his stomach, and walked out onto the field.  
"On my whistle!" said Hooch, over the roar of the crowd and the announcer.  
Harry couldn't help but notice that very little of the crowd was wearing green.  
"Three, two, one—" and the whistle sounded.  
Harry shot up into the air.  
As soon as his feet were of the ground and he felt the wave of excitement caused by weightlessness, he knew. He couldn't throw the game. He had to play, and play hard.

What he really knew was that he had never planned on throwing the game. Winning was too important to him. It meant too much in proving himself to those who doubted him the least: his house mates.  
And so he dove an d swooped through the air, looking everywhere for the hint of gold, and watching the Gryffindor seeker closely, when--  
He went into a dive.  
And pulled out sharply.  
Neal had followed him, thinking Harry had seen the Snitch. He pulled up out of the dive with Harry, close beside him.  
Harry suddenly jolted towards Neal, nearly knocking the older boy off of his broom.  
"Boo--!" The crowd jeered at the apparent act of sabotage.  
But it soon became apparent that Harry was attempting to unseat the opposing seeker. Harry was too busy trying to stay on his own broom.  
It bucked beneath him, trying its best to throw him off.

"Whoa!" called Harry, attempting to soothe the broomstick.  
But it was no use. No one could call a stop to the game. Technically, there was no call for it. It just appeared as though Harry had lost control.  
But Harry knew it was something worse. He regained control of it at times, but as soon as he attempted to move it, it lurched in the opposite direction. The broom was…determined not to obey.  
Then, Harry saw it.  
Just out of the corner of his eye. A glint of gold.  
And in that moment, as he was distracted, he lost focus on his broom— and it plummeted.  
Harry was falling with his broom, towards the ground, is it twitched and jerked along the way.  
As he felt himself falling, in one desperate act, he threw his arm out. And was caught.  
"Hang on!" came a strained voice from above him, and he looked up to see Neal struggling to keep on his broom and hold the dangling first year.  
He lowered Harry to the ground, were his broom was now waiting for him patiently and radiating innocence.  
As he let Harry down, Harry felt his stomach drop with guilt. He hadn't thrown his arm out expecting help. He'd thrown it out to…  
Harry opened his hand and showed Neal.  
Neal looked, and his smile fell into confusion. "The...the snitch."  
An odd hush swept through the stadium as everyone tried to grasp exactly what had happened.  
Madame Hooch blew the whistle.  
And Dean Thomas announced, lacking enthusiasm, just sounding stunned. "Potter…caught the Snitch!"  
And then there were cheers.  
Harry had been disappointed at the beginning of the game by the lack of green and silver in the crowd. He hadn't realized, though, just how loud they could be.  
Over the sudden volume of the arena, Harry looked up at Neal, perplexed. Neal just nodded, sadly. It was all Harry needed. He ran to the middle of the field and held up his arm, holding the snitch firmly in triumph. It was the first time Harry had ever felt entirely sure of his own worth.  
The first quidditch match.

Final score, Slytherin 170 Gryffindor 110.


	16. A Much Needed Holiday

Christmastime at Hogwarts was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced. Golden bubbles had been charmed as ornaments to line the hallways, the great hall was decorated in rich Christmas colors and everyone was pleasantly surprised to find Professor Flitwick's classroom dressed in cool Christmas silver and blue the last day before break.

Harry was also glad of the opportunity to have Hogwarts to himself without having to worry about vengeful Gryffindors.

Ever since the Quidditch match, the Gryffindors had been terrible to him. Ron was impossible. At lunch the day after the match, Harry had walked past the Gryffindor table to his own and Ron yelled loudly after him, "There goes the purest Slytherin you'll find!"

Harry turned around slowly to look at Ron. Ron was smirking at him, no regret, as though daring him to say something. Harry grew very red. He could feel his face burning as he stared Ron down. 'Why am I acting like I'm the guilty one?' Harry thought. 'He's the one who's being the jerk.'

"**_He's jealous. They're all jealous_, said the voice. _You're greater, more powerful than they can ever hope to be."_**

Harry had started at the thought, breaking eye contact with Ron…admitting his guilt. Ron smiled, and turned to his brothers, who gave him triumphant back slaps for his win. Neville and Padma began focusing on the tabletop with wilted faces as their fellow Gryffindors began doing "Potter Impressions".

The experience had been the first of many bad ones. Seamus didn't talk to Harry. The Hufflepuffs had stopped associating with him as much, and the Ravenclaws sided with the Gryffindors as usual.

And, of course, Sean was unbearable. Harry never would have figured him for the grudging type, before. But, then, he hadn't exactly expected Sean to be happy that he had helped give the Slytherins another boasting point. Harry had hoped Olga and Patricia would see past it, but they seemed to follow Sean's lead.

So, with Christmas break approaching, Sean, Patricia and Olga all going home to their families and almost the rest of the school with them, Harry made plans.

Harry entered his common room, looked around, and let out a whoop.  
He was alone. Utterly alone…and utterly happy.

The Slytherin common room had emptied out two days ago. Harry had had the school virtually to himself ever since, and he realized, now, just how badly he needed the alone time.

Harry had noticed how much he changed himself for the people around him. It felt like he had many Harrys that he labeled in his head. 'Gryffindor Harry', 'Slytherin Harry', 'Quidditch Harry', 'Sean Harry'…  
And, now, he was just… Harry Harry. Harry. And Harry had some questions.

He hadn't noticed all the strange things in his life that he had been forced to put on hold throughout the hubbub of Quidditch, classes and his social life. Now that those were out of the picture (although he did have some rather nasty essays for Transfigurations and Potions), he decided it was time to take a little initiative in his life. His first mission? Find out who the cloaked man was.

Harry hadn't forgotten that day in the hospital wing when he had looked out the window…and someone had looked back, causing a shooting pain in his scar. He also thought he knew where to look. It didn't make any real sense, beyond the logic that hatred can lead to the irrational. But Snape…well, it didn't get much more hateful than that.

Harry wasn't sure how he was going to go about finding out what Snape had to do with his scar. He figured it was some kind of spell…but he didn't know enough about magic yet to say what kind of spell would do that and what it's purpose was. He was hoping to talk to Snape…as unpleasant as that would be. He hoped if he could possibly make the oily old professor uncomfortable enough then he could worm a few answers out of him. Only problem was…well, that plan could work both ways, now, couldn't it? And when it came to matching his poker face with Snape's, Harry thought he might be on the short end.

So Harry contemplated his situation all day, as he moved from Hagrid's, sipping tea, to the library (now what was wolfbane again?), and eventually back to his common room, where he slept peacefully all night…for the first time since coming to Hogwarts.

Of course, he had forgotten one _very _important thing about that night.

He had forgotten to stay up and listen for bells and hooves.

After all…Santa was coming.

Harry woke up, and felt something weighing heavily at the end of his sheets as he made to kick them off. He opened his eyes fully, slightly reluctantly (the covers were splendidly warm, after all) and saw, at the end of his bed, several brightly colored packages, wrapped in bows and bells.

Harry jolted up, threw back his covers and plopped on top of them, staring transfixed at the gifts. All he could do for a while was stare. They. Were. Beautiful. Harry had never had a proper Christmas gift before. He almost didn't know what to do. He finally reached out for one of the gifts, handling it gently, preciously, turning it over, examining the paper. This one was from…Olga! Harry smiled widely, his teeth sparkling. So, they weren't mad at him. At least he hadn't bought them gifts in vain! He was afraid they would never forgive him!

Harry peeled back the paper gently, and found himself staring at a small box, unlabeled with a single warning: Do Not Open In Crowded Area. That was more than enough to get his attention. Casting a deft look across the room, he pulled open the box and threw it forward.

Nothing happened.

Harry reached out for the box, took it gently, and looked inside. Inside the box, struggling to get free, fastened to the bottom by a bit of red ribbon was…

"A snitch!" exclaimed Harry in breathless awe. "She got me a snitch! I hope she isn't too disappointed with the hat and scarf I got her!"

Harry was so stunned, he almost forgot he had other gifts. Finally, closing the box lid and setting it aside, he reached for another gift. This one was wrapped in dark red paper, and was tied with a strip of black ribbon…

"Oh," he said as he read the tag.

It was from Patricia. Of course. She'd been going through…a phase. He chuckled a little. It was strange to watch sweet, plump little Patricia stressing over whether or not her VERY liberal gobs of mascara were running.

He unwrapped the gift, a little more excited now. He smiled when he saw what it was. Honeydukes sweets. A whole big box of chocolate frogs and ever-flavor beans and ever-blowing bubble gum.

Next, he unwrapped a conspicuously green gift with a silver bow. Sean's, Harry saw with a smile. Of course. He would try for that touch of irony. Harry unwrapped the gift slowly, slightly awkwardly. The gift was a perfect sphere, and Sean had managed to wrap it seamlessly…probably some sort of spell. 'I have to learn that one,' Harry thought as his fingers fumbled with the paper.

At last, he managed to dig his fingernail under a bit of the paper and rip it. The gift rolled out of the paper, now, and what he saw…it took Harry's breath away.

It was a beautiful, perfect orb of emerald glass. Harry stared into the ball, transfixed. What was it? Harry searched the wrappings for an explanation, but none was to be found. Harry didn't know what it was, but it was stunning.

Harry set his three friends' gifts aside. He had two left. He took a rectangular parcel wrapped in…pink? Who did Harry know that would wrap a gift in pink? He looked the package over, looking for a tag. Nothing. Cuatiously, Harry unwrapped the package and opened the box. Sitting atop the tissue paper was a note written in very thick, curly writing.

I thought you could use some winning colors.

Hope you like it!  
Parvati

Harry set the note aside, glad that no one else was in the room as his cheeks flushed. He pushed aside the tissue paper and saw something red and gold inside. He lifted it out, and discovered it was a beautiful knit turtleneck sweater. 'I didn't get her anything!' though Harry frantically. 'I'll have to remember to send her something when she got back from break.

He reached for the last gift. A somewhat lumpy package, wrapped in gold. He opened it, and a silvery liquid slithered out. Harry stared at it, thinking for a wild moment that somehow someone had sent him a package of mercury. When he reached out to touch it, though, he felt a cloth between his fingers, smoother than silk. When he lifted the cloth, a slip of paper fell out. In a very tall, loopy handwriting, someone had written him a note…

Harry,

It was left in my possession when your father died, use it well.

Merry Christmas

Harry picked up the cloth and draped it around himself. He felt as though he had dipped into a pool of warm water, even though the cloth was cool to the touch. Harry looked down to examine how it looked on him…but there was no him to see! His body had disappeared! Harry threw the fabric aside in horror, afraid he might still not see himself again. But, as soon as he tossed the cloth away, he reappeared. Harry picked it up again, and swung it around his shoulders…and this time noticed a clasp at his throat. It was a cloak…

Harry did up the cloak, and pulled the hood over his head, which draped all the way down in front of his face.

Suddenly, Harry knew exactly how he was going to find everything out…


	17. A Trespasser

'This is stupid,' Harry thought as he walked down the empty corridor towards the dungeons. 'This is very, very stupid.'

Harry sidled along the walls, creeping around corners and always checking his breathing as he made his journey. Really there was no point to sidle and creep; he knew perfectly well that he was invisible. But Harry had a hard time getting used the idea that he could walk freely around the castle at night without being seen.

He walked behind suits of armor and tiptoed around patrolling prefects until he made it to his final destination: Snape's classroom. Harry entered the room that smelled overwhelmingly of formaldehyde and pickling juices and had to swallow a very painful cough that had jumped to his chest.

The classroom looked different at night without any students or cauldrons. A very ominous kind of different; Harry felt almost certain that something knew he was there. Then again, he also thought he had a right to feel nervous; the door had been unlocked. He took another step into the classroom and heard the door creak and felt something tug on the end of his cloak. He inhaled sharply and spun around beneath the fabric to look eye to eye with…the door. The cloak had snagged between the door and the floor. Harry almost sighed in relief, but caught himself in time; he had to be more careful about how much noise he was making. There was no telling if Snape was in his office.

Harry tiptoed up the slight staircase at the back of the classroom and saw that the door was just enough ajar to allow him to slip in. All the candles were out, and the room was so completely dark that Harry couldn't tell if anybody was inside. His worries about Snape being in the office, however, were quickly ebbed and replaced by a more fatalistic fear as he heard footsteps in the classroom and the sweep of a cloak; he had forgotten to shut the classroom door.

Harry quickly hurried into a corner behind and tall, wobbly shelf bedecked with hundreds of dead things in jars and obscure potions ingredients. The glasses rocked a little as he squatted down into the corner, but, thankfully, they didn't make any noise.

Harry cursed his treacherous hiding place as a tall figure entered the room with a stalking grace that could only be attributed to his potions' master. Snape flicked his wand with a powerful jerk and all the candles were lit. The room became bathed with an impossibly bright firelight and Harry had to fight to keep from flinching as his eyes panged against the adjustment. Snape, however, didn't seem to have any trouble with the light. He immediately began checking under his desk and shelves and in cupboards in chests, looking in all possible places for the trespasser. Harry faced one breathless, terrifying moment when the professor suck his large, hooked nose behind the shelf, just inches from Harry's knee.

Once the professor had checked all possible and impossible places he sniffed and stood upright. "Show yourself!" he hissed loudly.

Harry sat completely still and silent.

Snape cast his eyes once more across the room before he was satisfied that it was empty. "Damn students...if they think I won't find out who they are…with only 10 of them left in the school for the holiday, no less!"

Harry's stomach churned as he heard the odds toss against him. Snape was going to find out it was him unless he got out of there fast. Where better to check for the culprit than in the dorm room of your most hated student?

But, to Harry's surprise, Snape did not leave to run to the room to discover Harry's absence. Snape sat down at his desk and pulled out a quill and piece of parchment and began scribbling for a very long time.

Harry fought sleep as Snape wrote on for what seemed like hours. His legs were cramping, his back and neck ached and throbbed, and he fought off yawns constantly, feeling lightheaded from his shallow breaths.

Harry cursed his plan even more now. What exactly had he expected? Was Snape supposed to leave some incredibly incriminating evidence out on his desk? Was he supposed to start a soliloquy to his empty office about his evil plans to destroy Harry Potter?

'If I get caught I deserve it,' thought Harry.

And no sooner than the thought entered his head than Snape got up from his desk and walked right over to Harry…

And, of course, took down a jar. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid!' Harry's mind screamed at him as his heart thumped hard enough that it should be rattling the shelves.

Harry heard the jar pop open and some more scratching…and then silence. A confusing silence. He risked turning his neck around just far enough to watch Snape get up from his desk, parchment in hand, and leave the room. Harry listened hard until he heard the professor's footsteps diminish entirely.

Harry stood from his cramped position. His legs almost gave out beneath him as he moved out of the corner, pressed flat against the wall. Harry readjusted his cloak, made sure he was completely covered, and crept out of the office.

The door, thankfully, was still open. Snape hadn't bothered closing it. Harry hurried to the door, thrilled to be free at last.

He hurried over the threshold, but as he stepped through he felt a liquid cold wash over him. "Hello," said a malevolent voice.

Harry turned and saw Snape.

The professor reached forward straight towards Harry's nose and felt him there. He also felt the slippery fabric of the cloak and pulled.

Harry felt the cover sliver off him, and he stood, completely visible in front of Snape.

Snape had never looked happier. He almost smiled. Harry watched Snape in horror. 'How'd he know I was there? How? What do I do now!' Harry's thoughts screamed at him.

As if reading his thoughts, Snape glanced up at the top of the doorway with an amused glint in his eyes. Harry followed his look and saw a piece of parchment attached to the frame with archaic looking symbols glowing blue.

"I knew you were there," said Snape.

And Harry swallowed hard.

His fate no rested entirely on Snape's good will.

He didn't like his odds.


	18. A Shadowy Talk

Snape led Harry back to his office. Harry sat in a rather rigid chair in front of the desk, and Snape took his own seat behind it and began looking at Harry with a sneer over the tips of his fingers.

Harry wished Snape would say something. He just kept staring at him, as though waiting for him to crack.

Harry was determined not to show any sign of weakness. He wasn't going to give in.

He stared back at Snape, hoping he looked composed even though his mind was in chaos. 'Oh my God, I'm going to get expelled… they'll snap my wand… I'm going to have to go back to the Dursleys…'

At last, Snape spoke. Despite it all, Harry wasn't quite sure if this was actually a victory anyway, he felt a little triumphant.

"So like your father," said Snape.

Harry said sat up a little more alert. His father…Snape hadn't better say anything.

"So, Mr. Potter, what exactly possessed you to enter my office after hours? Did you actually think you would be caught? Were you so sure of yourself? Or, it is more likely, you simply didn't think the rules _applied_ to you? Well," said Snape," I assure you, Mr. Potter, they do."

Harry was sweating now. It made him sick to think Snape could make him feel this…sick. His stomach lurched, and the lurch was followed by an instant wave of heat that washed over him, accompanied by an icy sweat. As his arms began to tingle, his sight narrowed, tunneled so that the last thing he saw was Snape's sneering face.

Harry was in the Hospital Wing when he came to, but he was quite sure no one expected to be up yet. He could hear voices from figures silhouetted against his curtain. "Severus," came and old, wizened voice he recognized as Dumbledore's, "I understand your anger. Harry deserves to be punished, by all accounts. However, we both know that expulsion is not an option."

"But Headmaster!" said Snape indignantly. "The boy broke into my office in the middle of the night! That is more than enough cause for expulsion for any other student! It is ridiculous that this…_boy _should get spec—"

Harry saw that taller silhouette raise a hand.

"Severus, you know that Harry Potter is a special boy. He needs an education, more than any other students we've ever had. It seems terrible things are written in this boy's future," prophecized the Headmaster darkly. "We cannot take the risk of expulsion. Detention and house points, however, are yours to give and take as much as you please."

Snape said nothing. He knew the idea of taking points away from his own house had to be killing Snape. He loved winning, after all. All Slytherins did. Harry prayed, silently for him not to take points. His house would kill him.

"Detention," said Snape, "is by no means a fitting punishment. However, I shall do my best to make it so. "

"Do as you see fit, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Now come, let's get you a cup of tea…or some brandy, if you prefer. I suppose you've just suffered a terrible disappointment."

And Dumbledore's shadow led Snape's away.

Harry felt sick to his stomach, again. He knew Snape would do more than fulfill his promise to make the detentions as terrible as possible.

After his original excitement to have the school to himself, Harry even surprised himself with how happy he was to see the halls bustling with students again after the holidays.

He had spent the better part of his last week of vacation hiding as effectively as possible in his canopied bed, doing homework. He only came out when he felt as though he couldn't work effectively without another meal. At such times he avoided the crowded meal hours as much as possible. He didn't want to risk running into Snape, 'lest he remind him about the detentions.

Of course, he knew Snape hadn't forgotten about the detentions. Snape couldn't forget an opportunity to make things hard on Harry. But Harry hoped, hopelessly hopes he would.

It was breakfast a few weeks later, when Harry was beginning to think his plan really had worked, that he received an owl.

_Report to Filch's office promptly at 8 to serve your detention._

_ Prof. Snape_

Harry's heart sank and he couldn't eat another bite.

His friends took the letter.

"Wow, Harry, what did you do?" asked Patricia, with a little awe. "It had to be really bad to deserve a late night detention with Filch."

Harry hadn't told his friends about his nighttime excursion or the detention. He had, after all, been hoping they'd disappear.

"I was out of bed after hours," said Harry, hoping this was enough of the truth to satisfy them.

"And you got caught?" laughed Olga. "Wow, Harry. Caught by Snape, too. You're lucky to be here."

"Thanks," said Harry darkly.

"Don't worry," said Sean. "It won't be so bad."

He hold up a piece of parchment. "I've got detention, too."


	19. Detention and the Dragon

Sean had gotten detention from McGonagall. Apparently he'd come to class 15 minutes late one day, and she wasn't happy about it. Sean had given Sean a week's worth of detention. This, actually, was probably a lot better than what Harry had coming to him, even though Snape had never really said how many detentions he would get.

That night they made their way together to Filch's office from the common room. They didn't say anything on the way; a comfortable silence hung between them. They didn't need to say anything to be in each other's company.

"You're late," barked Filch when they arrived.

Actually, they were early, but Filch didn't seem to care about that. "You'll be serving your detentions with Hagrid tonight. Oh, but don't think it'll be easy. No, you'll be doing real physical labor," Filch grinned nastily. "Of course, it won't be as satisfying as the days of chains and shackles…"

They met Hagrid at the big doors of the entrance hall. Harry was very surprised when he saw him. He hadn't realized how long it had been since he saw Hagrid. Actually, now that they were face to face, he felt very guilty about not having come down to wish him a merry Christmas.

**_'Why should you have bothered anyway? He's just a gamekeeper, and you were busy...'_**

"Yeah," Harry muttered allowed to himself, "busy getting caught."

"What was that Harry?" asked Hagrid.

"Oh," started Harry, who hadn't actually realized he had spoken out loud. "Nothing."

Harry was confused by the sudden return of the voice. He hadn't heard it since….well, before Christmas. He had been to the point where he heard it constantly in the common room and at meals…it had been unnerving. But then when it had gone, he hadn't even noticed.

'But it's back,' thought Harry. 'I'll have to be careful.'

"Alright, there," said Hagrid, "we'll be working on the Quidditch field. It's gone and been all roughed up by some pranksters, so we've got to set it straight. Come along."

Harry followed Hagrid and realized what had been bothering him about his appearance so much. Were those scorch marks in his beard?

The work was hard. Some students had torn up the field and had enchanted confetti constantly falling. Sean was allowed to magic away the enchantment, but they were forced to remedy the mess without magic. Once the confetti was all gone, Hagrid handed them both shovels and rather large bags with seeds inside.

"Okay, you'll have to fill in all the divots, and then go through and reseed the whole field, paying special attention to the bald patches."

It was slow work. The seeds were magical, and sprouted grass instantly, but Hagrid constantly went through and criticized their work, and pointed out places they had missed. Harry knew Hagrid wasn't trying to make it hard on them. He just wanted the job done right.

It was completely dark out by the time they finished. Hagrid gave the final okay, and they carried their empty seed sacks and shovels back to his hut.

"Wow. Hey take detention seriously here," said Harry, wiping a thin sweat with the back of his hand.

"Yeah, I've been forced to do a lot worse. At least we didn't have bathroom duty. Scrubbing all those toilets and urinals with no magic…" Sean shuddered and Harry laughed.

"You get many detentions?" asked Harry.

Sean shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe a few more than the average student. Then again, I don't understand 'boundaries' or how it is 'important to be a good role-model for younger students'."

Harry laughed. Sean definitely wouldn't be earning any role model awards.

Silence settled between them as they trailed after Hagrid.

"Harry," said Sean suddenly, "how are the other houses treating you after…you know. The Quidditch match."

"About the same as you were," Harry snapped.

He stopped walking for a step. He had shocked himself. Where had that come from? He wasn't angry with Sean, and certainly hadn't meant to react this way. But, then again, wasn't it true?

He looked over to Sean to see if he had hurt him. Sean didn't look upset. Actually, if Harry hadn't known better, he would have sworn he had seen him give just the quickest, faintest of smiles.

"Yeah, sorry about that," said Sean, not really sounding sorry. "Listen, Harry. I know we talk about inter-house peace and good will, but, the fact is, it's all a load of crock. In the end, they'll all just stab you in the back to win. We're not meant to get along. That's why we have all those competitions. House cup, the Quidditch cup…it's all devised to get the best out of us. The only thing is, competition doesn't bring out the best. It brings out the most ambitious. Whatever that may be."

Harry listened, but didn't respond. He didn't need Sean to tell him this. He already knew it. After the first Quidditch match when all his "friends" had shunned him, Harry had realized something: friendships only work with the competition if you let them win. Everybody played everyone else like pawns…or attempted to. The thing was, it gets very complicated when all the pawns on your bored have their own agenda to use you like a chess piece.

He could handle it, though. 'It's not as though it's impossible,' thought Harry. 'It's just become a game that only the best can play.'

And Harry wanted to play.

When they reached Hagrid's hut, they dropped off their supplies and started to make their way back to the school when Hagrid called after Harry. "Er, Harry," he said, "would you mind coming in quickly for some tea?"

Harry was really tired, but he also felt as though he ought to stay and talk with Hagrid, if only because the voice had told him otherwise earlier.

He waved goodbye to Sean and went into Hagrid's.

He was alarmed by what he saw.

He hut was thick with smoke, and there were little, smoldering spots everywhere. But that was the most shocking part.

"H-Hagrid," stammered Harry, "is that a…dragon?"

"Er," said Hagrid, looking back at a winged, fanged and scaly creature, "yeah, Harry, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. This here is Norbert. He's a Norwegian Ridgeback."

Hagrid beamed like a proud parent.

"Um, Hagrid…aren't they _illegal_?"

"Well…I suppose, but that's not important. See, I raised Norbert here from egg. He's not that old. Only a few weeks, but look how the little baby's growing!"

Harry didn't see anything little or remotely baby-like about the creature, but he decided to let this slide.

"Hagrid, where did you get him and why are you showing me him now?"

Harry was slightly hurt that Hagrid hadn't shared Norbert with him before. But, then, he hadn't been visiting Hagrid that much. He was also upset hat Hagrid would get him involved at all. Harry was already in loads of trouble! What would happen if it was found out that he was involved in some illegal dragon…breeding, or whatever?

"Ah, now, I just wanted to share him with you, Harry," said Hagrid. "I won him off of a stranger in a pub."

Harry was still in shock. "Hagrid," he said, "you can't keep him."

"Oh, well I know that," said Hagrid. "I'll let him free when he's grown up, just like all mommies do."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Hagrid's reference to himself as the dragon's "mommy", but decided to let it slide. "Hagrid, I mean soon. You're going to get caught! You'll get into tons of trouble! You could be kicked out! Even Professor Dumbledore can't turn a blind eye on illegal dragon possession!"

Hagrid didn't look convinced. He was looking dreamy-eyed at Norbert, who was rudely devouring some small, furry creature.

"Hagrid," Harry tried again, "think of all the trouble I'll get into."

That caught Hagrid's attention. Harry knew it was a low blow, but he had to try. It was true…he would get in trouble for this.

"You?" asked Hagrid.

"Yes, me," said Harry. "When you're caught, I'll be caught! That's guilt by association or something! And after all the stupid things I did over the holiday, I can't afford more trouble. Hagrid, I could be _expelled_."

And Harry knew he had done it. He had convinced Hagrid. He saw little tears form in his black beetle eyes, and he felt a momentary pang of guilt. But, he had won, and saved them both, he knew.

"It's all right, Hagrid," said Harry, clapping the large man on the back. "I promise he'll stay until we find him a good home. Don't worry about it. He'll always love his mommy."

And Harry had never felt so dirty and deceitful. He had just played one of the first friends he had ever made…one of the first people he ever remembered showing any sign of affection to him. 'But,' he though, 'it was for his own good…'


	20. The Dragon Problem

Harry didn't know how he was going to manage to fulfill his promise to Hagrid. He'd been in the library day and night for a week night (at least when he wasn't serving detention.) He'd read everything who could on dragons, much to the suspicion of Madame Pince. Harry knew he was pushing his luck by making his interest in dragons so apparent, but he couldn't let Hagrid down. He still felt so guilty…  
And Harry suddenly experienced a slight pang in his forehead, and shook his head hard.

The feeling had been bothering him all week, and it was frequently accompanied by the hissing voice in his head. Harry was beginning to think he should mention this to someone…  
It hadn't occurred to him before, but the fact that the "voice" wasn't _his_ voice was rather disturbing. He was hearing some strange voice in his head? That really didn't sound like a good thing.  
Harry shook his head again and pressed his palm against his forehead.

And Harry remembered.

He had been in the hospital wing, looking out the window, and he had felt a similar pain, although much worse, in the same spot. The feeling wasn't in his forehead. It was in his scar.

And he grew still more concerned. Now he was hearing voices and having strange pains in some evil curse scar. Maybe it had addled his brains in a way that the magic world was just exposing…

Harry went back to his reading. He wasn't going to mention the pain or the voice to anyone _now_. After all, maybe they would think the same thing and have him shipped off to some magical loony bin.

From what Harry had read, his best chance to get rid of Norbert was a dragon preserve. Norwegian Ridgebacks, he learned, were also a threatened species. They had been hunted to near extinction in the 1800's for their breath, which apparently gave a particularly desired flavor to food when cooked with.

'That should make him easier to get somewhere safe,' thought Harry, now taking off his glasses and rubbing his scar between his hands, now wondering desperately why the pain wouldn't stop.

"Hiya, Harry."

Harry leaned his head back and looked up at Sean's toothy smile. "Hey, Sean."

"Watcha reading?" asked the older boy, now taking a seat next to Harry and pulling the open book toward himself.

"Nothing!" said Harry, making a mad snatch for the book.

Sean let him take it, but looked at him strangely. "Dragons, Harry? What are you reading up on dragons for?"

Harry smiled apologetically. "Well, um, you see, in the Muggle world dragons are, just, fantasy creatures. They're really popular, and I was…I was just wondering if they actually anything like what Muggles think."

Sean laughed. "Well?"

"Well, I'm tempted to say no, since I have read anything about them stealing young maidens into their caves and allowing themselves to be slaughtered by noble Muggle knights."  
He laughed again. "No, I should imagine not."

That sat in silence for a while, Harry trying to focus on reading, but still distracted by his scar.  
Finally he gave up and made to leave. "Wait, Harry!" said Sean, grabbing his wrist.

Harry yelped as his vision scorched and a pain shut down the center of his skull. He jumped back, and looked around desperately as his vision returned. The library door swung closed just in time for Harry to make out the hem of a robe.

"Harry, are you all right?" asked Sean in shock.

"Yeah…I think so," said Harry. "Who was that who just left?"

"Who—oh. Oh, yes, Professor Snape and Professor Quirrel, actually. I didn't realize they were here…" Sean looked at the doorway darkly. "They've been turning up in very odd places together."

"Yes," said Harry. "How strange."  
He left the library, not quite able to place the smell of singed flesh and hair.

Harry had a plan. He had been walking from the Great Hall one day after he had finished his lunch and overheard Ron at the Gryffindor table. "Charley says they just got a new Thornythroated Greyback and it's already sent three keepers to the hospital!" he said, gesturing excitedly and sending a spoonful of potatoes on Neville. "We might even get to go to Romania to see it since we might be visiting him this summer—"  
Harry practically ran out of the Great Hall, ever-grateful for the plan forming in his head.

And now he was frozen above a piece of parchment. He had his plan completely worked out. But how, exactly, was he supposed to write this letter. "Dear Charley Weasley, you don't actually know me, but I'm friends with your brother Ron, well not actually friends, but he's in my year at Hogwarts. I'm Harry Potter, and I was hoping you could help me with a dragon problem…"

'Wow,' thought Harry, 'if that's sounds any worse on paper than it does in my head…'

He stared at the parchment for a little while longer before writing down,  
'Dear Charley Weasley,'  
It made him uncomfortable to say 'dear' to someone he didn't actually know, but he was quite sure this is how all people started letters, although he wasn't in the practice of writing many himself.

'Okay,' he thought, 'he knows I actually want to talk to him now. So…now I tell him who's writing him, right?'

'This is Harry Potter,' the letter continued, 'I attend Hogwarts with your brother Ron.'

'Alright,' thought Harry, wondering why his palms were sweating so badly, 'now he knows who I am and how I know about him.— I wonder if getting a letter from Harry Potter here is like a Muggle child getting a letter from the Easter Bunny…'

Harry was terribly confused, now. He didn't have any other way of introducing himself than just writing his name. But what if Charley didn't believe that he had actually written the letter? He decided he had to continue on the hope that Charley could suspend his disbelief just long enough…

'I know we don't really know each other, but I was hoping I could ask for a favor,' said the letter. 'A friend of mine has come into possession of a Norwegian Ridgeback. Please, don't bother wondering how. Even I don't really understand it all. Apparently, he's always wanted a dragon, a chance should have it that somebody decided to give him one. I don't think it was a particularly intelligent transaction on either's part, but now I'm helping him find it a home before it's too late. Since Norwegian Ridgebacks are a threatened species, I was hoping he could find a home on the preserve you work on in Romania.  
'Your help would be very much appreciated.

'Sincerely,  
'Harry Potter'

'There!' thought Harry. 'Done!'

He may have babbled on a bit, he realized in reflection, but the letter had been far to difficult to write to try again. He ran up to the owlery to find Blaise, gave him a few treats, and then sent him off with a letter, addressed very vaguely to 'Charley Weasley, Dragon Preserve, Romania.'


	21. The Arrangement Underway

Charley's reply didn't take long to arrive. A/N: Although this chapter did…. Harry was at breakfast not a week later when Blaise flew in, looking rather proud and unruffled as he landed in Harry's eggs and held out his leg in a very regal fashion. Harry chuckled and began to untie the parchment, nervous about the reply, but more amused by his owl's presence that seemed to ask him to kiss it's foot. As he read the letter, Blaise flew up and perched on his shoulder, occasionally nipping his ear lightly to remind him to share the bacon.

Harry was surprised b the enthusiasm with which his letter had been received. Apparently, Ron hadn't had much time to write to Charley about his relationship with him.

_Dear Harry Potter,  
When I opened your letter, I was sure it was a joke! (Is this a joke? Your owl seemed rather serious about it…) Anyway, I'm assuming your contact with me is connected with Ronald in one way or another. Say hello to him for me. I'm glad to hear his getting on well with you, at least._

_As for the problem, I won't put anything in writing for risk of interception (even though your owl seems strong enough to fend for itself in such a case), but I have a feeling I know who our rather large friend is, and I would be happy to help._

_I won't be able to meet you and clear up the problem, but I've arranged for some friends to come by the North Tower at midnight next Friday. _

_Good luck! And be on time!  
Signed,  
Charley Weasley_

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as one problem fell from his shoulders and another dropped on. How on earth was he going to sneak Norbert to the North Tower after hours?

That evening, after classes, Harry ran out to Hagrid's hut, trying very hard not to break curfew. Lord knew he was in enough trouble as it was. Plus, he still had detention...Snape still hadn't told him how long he was going to have to serve these nightly detentions, but they were taking a toll. It hadn't been a week and he was already feeling worn down. After he was done with whatever vile, medial task he was assigned, he headed back to the dorm and worked until nearly dawn on homework and studying. At least he had Sean working along aside him for another two days…after that, there would be no consolation.

When he knocked on Hagrid's door, he knew it was pointless. All the noise inside…the barking, yelling and overall sound of chaos guaranteed he wouldn't be heard. So, Harry entered the cabin, trying to make as much noise as possible, hoping his presece would somehow be noticed.

The scene inside the hut was worse than it had even sounded. Hagrid, sporting a very singed beard and a pair of charred eyebrows was trying to hold back Norbert, who kept snapping at Fang and blowing little fires licks at him. Fang, in turn, stood just out of range and taunted the dragon, barking and snapping while nursing small burn wounds on his paws.

Hagrid turned around and spotted Harry. "Harry!" he yelled over the din, "Get Fang outta here!"

Harry promptly obeyed, attempting to pull the large dog out of the hut by its collar. Finally, with much struggle, Harry kicked Fang out of the backdoor as Hagrid crooned to quiet the dragon.

Harry listened for a while, waiting for Hagrid to finish with the dragon and take notice of him again. Harry was more worried now…the dragon was larger than he remembered…apparently growing rapidly. How much bigger could he get by Friday? Not to mention how rowdy the young dragonling seemed to be. Surely, if Harry even managed to move the beast, it would make such a racket that every teacher in the school would come running to wherever he was.

"Hagrid," Harry said at last to get his friend's attention. "I've found a place for Norbert."

Hagid stopped attempting to console Norbert and turned to face Harry slowly. "And?"

"Charley Weasley works on a Dragon Preserve in Romania, and they're willing to take Norbert there. Some of his friend's will be coming to pick Norbert up on Friday."

Hagrid turned away and blew his nose on a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. "R-right." he sniffled. "Charley Weasley…there's a good lad. Always had a fine way with creatures. I'm sure…I'm sure Norbert will be ha-ha-happy there!"  
And Hagrid dissolved completely into a heaving, sobbing mass.

"There, Hagrid," said Harry, awkwardly patting the large man's back to comfort him. "Norbert will be happy there. It's for the best."

"I can never thank you enough, Harry. Just…just tell me what to do."

"Just have him ready for me Friday at midnight. I'll take care of the rest."

Come Friday, Harry was in no mood to be out late. He'd scrubbed lavatories, disemboweled two barrels of toads, cleaned out the Owlery, and a number of other deeds to despicable to mention. He was exhausted, and looking forward to his weekend, which would be, thankfully, detention free. Professor McGonagall had, surprisingly, intervened on his behalf…in a way. Harry had overheard her berating Snape for not giving him the weekend off to catch up on his studies. Snape had, therefore, agreed to give him Saturday and Sunday off for homework on the condition that he only be seen in the dormitory and the library, with the exception of meals…he was still allowed to dine in the Great Hall.

With this "reward" in mind, he went up to his dormitory, and started on his homework with the night's task weighing heavily on his mind.

At 8, Harry left for detention. With Sean's help, they managed to clean the dinner dishes before it was too late. Given, Sean had broken the rules and snuck in his wand.

Come 11, Harry began getting his things together as indiscreetly as possible. Since there were people in the dormitory and down in the common room, he shoved pretended to rummage through his trunk as he shoved his invisibility cloak under his pajama top, shivering at its coolness. Then, in the bathroom, he slipped on the cloak and crept out, careful not to bump into anybody on his way out of the common room, and waiting impatiently for an opportunity to leave.

It took him a quarter of an hour to leave the common room and considerably longer to get out to Hagrid's place than he had planned. He was going to have to hurry after he got Norbert…andhe didn't see how that was possible. He hoped Charley's friends would be willing to wait. Interrupting A/N: How the Hell do Charley's friends fly onto Hogwarts grounds if Dumbledore had to take down the spells to enter the grounds on broomstick in book 6?….just a question…. When Harry knocked on the door, he found Hagrid waiting, his beetle eyes glistening and tears shining in his beard. "'Ere, Harry," he said, pushing Norbert's cage forward befor blowing his nose like a trumpet. "I can't stand to say goodbye again."

Harry nodded and turned to the dragon. He lucky the dragon was still fairly small and young, because he was about to try something very risky. Crouching down and pointing his wand at the dragon's smooth underbelly, he whispered "_petrificus totalus_."  
He hoped Hagrid hadn't heard. It was not a particularly gentle spell. So, as soon as he saw that, thankfully, it had taken to the dragon the first time, he threw the invisibility cloak over Norbert's cage. He'd been practicing that spell ever since he found it in search of a means of subduing Norbert for the trip.

"Well," he said to Hagrid. "Wish me luck."  
Turning to the cage, Harry invoked _wingardium leviosa_, and then lifted the the cloak and pulled it over himself as well.  
"Good luck, Harry."


End file.
